Mr PARIS 

NOTE-BOOK 



BT THE AU'THOR OF AN 
ENGLISHMAN IN PARIS 




PHILADELPHIA 

J. B. LIPPINCOTT COMPANT 

MDCCCXCIV 






Copyright, 1894, 

BY 

J. B. LippiNcoTT Company. 



Printed by J. B. Lippincott Company, Philadelphia. 






TO 

DR. GEORGE LICHTENBERG, 

BUT FOR WHOSE UNREMITTING KINDNESS I SHOULD 

NOT HAVE BEEN ALIVE TO WRITE THIS 

OR ANY OTHER BOOK. 

THE AUTHOR. 



CONTENTS. 



CHAPTER I. 

PAGE 

My first glimpse of Paris — The return of the troops from the 
Crimea — My uncles part-authors of this book — Their attach- 
ment to Louis Napoleon — Their frequent interviews with him 
after he ascended the Imperial throne — An anecdote of Baron 
James de Rothschild— Napoleon's gratitude— The probable 
truth of the rouge on the Emperor's face on the morning of 
Sedan — The Emperor as a causeur — The Emperor and Mgr. 
Sib'our, Archbishop of Paris — The Emperor and Gustave Flau- 
bert — "Madame Bovary" and the Emperor's criticism — A 
word about myself— The first impression produced by the 
sight of the Boulevards — An educated Yorkshireman defines 
that impression — My first impression of the French troops — 
The Emperor on the Turcos and Zouaves —A bit of unpub- 
lished history — The Emperor's feelings towards the Haps- 
burgs — An unknown story of Napoleon I. and Marie Louise 
— A bit of Marie Louise's biography — M. Sardou's Madame 
Sans-Gene 9 

CHAPTER II. 
Napoleoniana — Napoleon I. a bad shot — The Emperor at his 
best when talking about Napoleon I. — Napoleon I. as a pa- 
tron of the drama — About' s Guillery and Lemercier's Chris- 
tophe Colomb — Napoleon I. within an ace of becoming a 
theatrical manager himself^Was Napoleon I. conscious of his 
future greatness ?— Louis Napoleon at Lady Blessington's — 
He and Charles Dickens have their fortunes told — Roger the 
great tenor — A curious coincidence — My uncle's opinions 
about Frenchmen's courage — An anecdote of Alexandre 
Dumas the elder — The Parisians' love of spectacular display 
and dramatic sensation — How Napoleon I. provided for it — 
Napoleon HI. an equally good stage-manager, though in a 
different way — The truth about the famous " Committee of 

Resistance" 32 

3 



Contents. 



CHAPTER III. 



Some notes on Victor Emmanuel— His portrait in later years 
—The sculptor Marochetti's opinion of Victor Emmanuel's 
physical appearance — A note of my younger grand-uncle— 
Victor Emmanuel's dislike of politics and Jinesse— A recep- 
tion at the Tuileries — Victor Emmanuel and Napoleon HI. 
— Victor Emmanuel as a raconlezir.— Massimo d'Azeglio's 
stories of Victor Emmanuel — His estimate of the man and of 
the King — Victor Emmanuel's idea of accomplishing the uni- 
fication of Italy — His dislike of etiquette and restraint — A 
hunting story — Victor Emmanuel at La Mandria — Rosina 
Vercellana, afterwards Contessa di Mirafiori ; Victor Em- 
manuel's morganatic wife— Victor Emmanuel's appetite— 
The story of his hair-dye and " make-up" — Contessa Rosina 
and the King at home — Contessa Rosina wants to dye her 
hair also — Contessa Rosina's temper — Napoleon III. on mor- 
ganatic wives 58 

CHAPTER IV. 

A chapter on the Comedie-Franfaise— My reasons for writing 
it — A country has the drama and theatrical institutions it de- 
serves — Causerie, not history — My first glimpse of the late 
Augustine Brohan— Few of those whom I saw in my youth re- 
main— Edmond Got— Got and Emile Augier— The genesis 
of Les jFourchamdauli— Theatrical Paris in 1861 — Les Ef- 
f routes — Louis Veuillot and Emile Augier— Got' s preparation 
for playing Bernard— Got' s preparations for playing Rabbi 
David Sichel— Got and M. Isidore, the late Chief Rabbin of 
France— Proposed epitaph for Parade— Got's extensive read- 
ing— Got and Mounet-Sully— Mounet-Sully as an actor— "A 
ladder for M. Mounet-Sully"— Got and Raoul Rigault of the 
Cornmune— The mise en scene of the Comedie-Franjaise- 
A retrospective view— The late M. Emile Perrin and some 
other administrators of the Comedie-Franjaise— A curious 
official mistake — MM. Erckmann-Chatrian and their begin- 
nings—Mr. Henry Irving and " The Bells"— Got in search of 
a piano — His interview with the superior of a convent — 
Nourrit, the celebrated tenor, and King Bomba— The supe- 
rior's eye for the main chance— Got's diplomacy— The i^ra^^y- 
erie V Esperance— Brasseries of former days— A wo/ of Au- 
gustine Brohan 72 



Contents. 



CHAPTER V. 

PAGE 

Personal recollections of two eminent men : Ernest Renan and 
Paul de Kock. — My first glimpse of Renan — The physical man 
— Renan's way of teaching the philosophy and the poetry of 
life — His way of composing his speeches and his works — 
What life may have meant to Renan— Renan's fondness for 
children — His grief at his own plainness — His almost bound- 
less admiration of beautiful women — The genesis of PAb- 
besse de Jouarre — An anecdote of his youth — Renan and 
Jules Simon — Renan as a mimic and actor — Renan's imita- 
tion of Egger the savant — His imitation of Labeche the play- 
wright — Renan and the Abbe Delille — Renan's indifference 
to spiteful criticism— Paul de Kock — A Dutch lad's disap- 
pointment at Paul de Kock's appearance — The silence of the 
critics with regard to de Kock's works — Paul de Kock's 
method of work — His dress — His apartment on the Boule- 
vard St. Martin — Pius IX. 's appreciation of Paul de Kock's 
works 107 



CHAPTER VI. 

A view of French society under the Third Republic — Wanted 
a Sebastien Mercier — In default of such an one, the author 
attempts the task — The author's qualifications — The author's 
knowledge of most of the present rulers of France — The 
author's system of getting at the truth — Look for the woman 
— The absence of the nice female element from the principal 
thoroughfares — The author takes a walk with an English 
friend — The lady's antecedents and present position — A re- 
mark of M. Edouard Herve of Le Soleil — The author's friend 
explains the situation — The attitude of the Faubourgs Saint- 
Germain and Saint-Honore towards the Republican big- 
wigs — The women of the Chaussee d'Antin — A scene from 
Dumas' Etrangere in real life — The late General Boulanger 
and his second daughter — Why the wives of the Republican 
bigwigs shun the public thoroughfares — A minister's "lady" 
on the prevalence of Offenbachian music in the Church 
service — An invitation to a dinner-party— My first impression 

. — The late Emile Perrin on diamonds as heirlooms — A scrap 

of conversation 137 

I* 



6 Contents. 

CHAPTER VII. 

PAGE 

Politics without petticoats — Marshal Mac-Mahon and the Du- 
chesse de Magenta — The "friends" of the Republican big- 
wigs — Mme. Thiers and Mile. Dosne— Their influence over 
Theirs— A letter from Mile. Dosne — Mme. Grevy— Mme. Dan- 
iel Wilson, nee Grevy— Jules Grevy and Mesdames de 
Rainneville and d'Harcourt — Mme. Ferry — Mme. de Frey- 
cinet and Mile, de Freycinet — Boulanger and Mme. de Bonne- 
main — Women who influenced kings — Mme. Edmond Adam 
and Louise Michel— Political salons of former days— More 
conversation at the dinner-party — My friend's husband on 
the situation — The reason of the dislike to woman's influence 
— Corbiere's mother and Gambetta's father — Skobeleff" and 
the Jewish soldier — A short retrospect — The modern politi- 
cian's love-affairs and his way of conducting them 156 

CHAPTER VIII. 

Round about the Palais-Bourbon — The Salle des Pas-Perdus — 
M. Adolphe Ranc — Actors and critics — The editor of Le 
Matin — M. Arthur Meyer of Z,^ Gaulois — M. Edouard Herv6 
of Le Soleil — An anecdote of the Due de Noailles — M. Ribot 
— M. Clemenceau — An anecdote of Gambetta in the heyday 
of his popularity — An anecdote of King Christian IX. — M. 
Henri Brisson — M. Goblet — Some late ambassadors — A hint 
to future historians — The President of the Chamber — The 
President's bell 176 

CHAPTER IX. 

Round about the Palais-Bourbon — More about the President's 
bell— Past Presidents and their performances on the instru- 
ment— Dupin aine—K mot oiM. Floquet— Unruly deputies — 
M. de Cassagnac— M. Baudry d'Asson— The President's task 
more difficult now than it was formerly— The President's 
hat — The President's chair and table— The eight secretaries 
— The rostrum— Orators of former days, and speakers of to- 
day—Interrupters—The official shorthand reporters and sum- 
mary writers — Their honesty — French journalists and their 
duties — M. Emile Ollivier, the ex-Empress Eugenie, and Sir 
John Lintorn Simmons— The Quaestors— The members' sti- 
pend, and what it led to in one instance— First appearance 



Contents. 7 

PAGE 

of Gambetta on the political scene — A word about " An Eng- 
lishman in Paris" — Refreshments for deputies — Quaestor 
Baze's reform — Distribution of the members' seats — The min- 
isterial bench — The manner of voting — Ladies in the Cham- 
ber — Parliaraentory oratory 202 

CHAPTER X. 

Three Presidents of the Republic— A test of the popularity of 
an eminent man in France — The theatres as a barometer in 
times of public excitement — The receipts at the theatres on 
the day of Mirabeau's death— On the day of Gambetta's 
funeral— On the day of Thiers' funeral — Not a single kindly 
note about Adolphe Thiers — An epitaph attributed to M. 
Victorien Sardou— Thiers and Louis Philippe— a wzo/ of Al- 
phonse Karr— The Charivari's opinion of Thiers— The real 
aim of Thiers' life— Old Prince Metternich on Thiers— Thiers 
and Mac-Mahon during the Commune— Thiers and Louis 
Napoleon — Louis Napoleon's opinion — A conversation be- 
tween these two— Thiers and Mr. Senior — His dread of Mr. 
Senior's publication — His family — Mac-Mahon— Madame de 
Mac-Mahon— The story of the Comte de Chambord's fa- 
mous manifesto— Mac-Mahon' s story o^ \hQ plebiscite of 1852 
— Mac-Mahon's genealogy— Mac-Mahon the real founder of 
the Third Republic "in spite of himself" — Mac-Mahon's 
title— Mac-Mahon's modesty 235 

CHAPTER XI. 

Three Presidents of the Republic (continued)— M. Jules Grevy 
—His spotless political past— The truth about his famous 
amendment— The origin of his fall as a President— M. Gra- 
vy's early career— His acquaintance with Alfred de Musset— 
The love-letters of Alfred de Musset to George Sand— My 
uncle at Musset's funeral— My uncle's notes about Grevy — 
Theodore Barriere, the famous playwright— M. Grevy's won- 
derful memory — M. Gr6vy's fondness for women's society — 
Madame Gr6vy— Where she failed — M. Grevy's mesalliance 
— The sequel to the mesalliance — M. Grevy's literary attain- 
ments — His character a puzzle — M. Grevy's love of money 
— Anecdotes to that effect— A comparison between his greed 
and that of Thiers — M. Grevy's real age— His genealogy . 261 



8 Contents. 

chapter xii. 

PAGB 

Round about the Elys6e-Bourbon— What an invitation to the 
Tuileries meant ; what an invitation to the Elysee means— 
My friend on M. Mollard, the " Introducteur des Ambassa- 
deurs"— M. Mollard— His origin— His beginnings— How he 
became an employ^ at " Le Protocole"— His duties there — 
His functions at the beginning of the Third Republic— Some 
of his blunders— The menu on the occasion of the dinner to 
Archduke Albrecht— A quadrille d'honneur— A mot of Mac- 
Mahon— A/^/^ at Versailles— A reception at the Ministry of 
Finances— M. Mollard's portrait— The massacre of the hats 
— M. Mollard and M. Grevy— The Presidency during Thiers' 
time — The Presidency during Mac-Mahon's time — M. Gr^vy 
from a social point of view — Madame Grevy — Madame Wil- 
son, nee Grevy — M. Daniel Wilson — M. Mollard and the 
Grand Cordon of the Legion of Honour — M. Mollard and 
the Sultan of Zanzibar's present — M. Mollard covets a horse 
— What he does with it — The guests at the Elysee during the 
presidency of M. Grevy— My barber at the Elysee — The 
story of 35,000 cigars 283 



MY PARIS NOTE-BOOK. 



CHAPTER I. 

My first glimpse of Paris — The return of the troops from the 
Crimea — My uncles part-authors of this book — Their attachment 
to Louis Napoleon — Their frequent interviews with him after he 
ascended the Imperial throne — An anecdote of Baron James de 
Rothschild — Napoleon's gratitude — The probable truth of the 
rouge on the Emperor's face on the morning of Sedan — The Em- 
peror as a causeur—The Emperor and Mgr. Sibour, Archbishop of 
Paris — The Emperor and Gustave Flaubert — " Madame Bovary" 
and the Emperor's criticism — A word about myself— The first 
impression produced by the sight of the Boulevards — An edu- 
cated Yorkshireman defines that impression — My first impression 
of the French troops — The Emperor on the Turcos and Zouaves 
— A bit of unpublished history — The Emperor's feelings towards 
the Hapsburgs — An unknown story of Napoleon I. and Marie 
Louise — A bit of Marie Louise's biography — M. Sardou's Madame 
Sans- Gene. 

I AM beginning this book on the last day of the year 
(1893), and not without a certain feehngof sadness ; for 
I cannot help remembering that exactly thirty-eight 
years have elapsed since I first caught sight of the Paris 
Boulevards. It was on the occasion of the return of 
some of the troops from the Crimea (December 31, 
iS55)« We had a police pass, and were enabled to walk 
in the middle of the road, unhindered by any one. My 
two maternal grand-uncles, with whom I had come to 
stay, ostensibly on a short visit — which, in reality, only 
ended with their lives — ^were, to some extent, influential 

9 



lo My Paris Note-Book. 

people, though neither of them ever did anything re- 
markable. Nor was their influence due to wealth, their 
competence being but modest. They had both been 
army surgeons, and came to Paris shortly after Quatre- 
Bras and Waterloo, and never left the French capital 
again for any length of time until the day of their death ; 
for, odd to relate, these two men, who had become 
Parisians to the backbone and finger-tips, objected to 
sleep their last sleep in or near the city of their adop- 
tion. They both lie in a little cemetery near Amster- 
dam, where the yellow waters of the Y splash against 
the shore. "It won't do to sleep one's last sleep at 
Pere-la-Chaise's or Montmartre," they said in French — 
they had left off speaking their mother tongue long be- 
fore that ; *' it won't do to sleep one's last sleep there ; 
the noise and din would be almost sure to disturb one ; 
and if one took it into his head to revisit the old haunts, 
there might be a blank stare, if not a cold shoulder, for 
in Paris a man is forgotten in a fortnight by his best 
friends." From this it will be gathered that they did 
not cherish many illusions with regard to the durability 
of Frenchmen's regret for, or recollection of, those who 
have gone before them ; they themselves were, how- 
ever, capable of very deep-seated attachments. 

One of those deep-seated attachments was to the 
person of Louis Napoleon, whose mother and father 
they had known when the latter were queen and king- 
of Holland. My relatives had, moreover, been able to 
render some slight services to the son before he became 
President of the Second Republic, and he, who was 
gratitude personified, gave them their grandes and 
petites entrees to the Tuileries when he ascended the 
Imperial throne. They availed themselves seldom of 
the former, but very often of the latter privilege. Louis 



My Paris Note-Book. ii 

Napoleon would have given them some lucrative ap- 
pointment had they wanted it, but they were stubbornly 
though unostentatiously independent, and furthermore, 
almost contemptuously indifferent to money. When 
they settled in Paris they took to private practice. Up 
till within a short time of their death, their waiting- 
room was crowded for three hours in the morning, but I 
feel certain that the patients were much more numerous 
than the fees. 

But though refusing to accept anything for them- 
selves, they had no scruples about asking for others ; 
and where their own resources failed, or those of their 
less wealthy friends were exhausted, they unhesitatingly 
applied to the Emperor — when they dared no longer 
apply to Baron James de Rothschild. A mission to 
Baron James with such an object, entailed rising at six 
— whether it was summer or winter — in order to catch 
him after he had read the morning papers. ' ' Reading 
the papers" was in this instance a mere figure of speech ; 
Baron James rarely, if ever, read the papers himself; 
he had them read for him by a veteran actor named 
Charles Boudeville, who declaimed the ' ' money article' ' 
with the same art he would have employed declaiming 
the soliloquy of Hamlet. We shall perhaps meet with 
him again. 

Of the many stories told to me by my relatives con- 
cerning Baron James — for unfortunately they did not 
commit all their recollections to paper — here is one. 
One morning on being admitted to Baron James' private 
room, my uncle found him apparently deeply engaged 
in examining a magnificently chased golden vase of the 
most exquisite workmanship, and incrusted with precious 
stones. The temporary owner, one of the best known 
bric-a-brac dealers of those days, was holding forth upon 



12 My Paris Note-Book. 

its beauty, and giving a recital of its pedigree, inter- 
larding nearly every sentence with a — ' ' I feel certain, 
M. le Baron, that you have never seen anything like it 
before. ' ' The baron let him go on for nearly ten minutes 
uninterruptedly, during which time the sentence recurred 
at least a dozen times. At last he replied, ' ' You are right, 
I have never seen anything like it before ; and what is 
the price ?" *' The price is 220,000 francs, M. le Baron," 
answered the dealer. " Hm," remarked Baron James, 
" it's a stiff figure ; but you are right, I have never seen 
anything like it before. By-the-by," he added, rising, 
and with a mischievous twinkle in his eye, ** if you'll 
wait a few minutes, I fancy I'll be able to show you 
something the like of which you have never seen before. ' ' 
With which he disappeared into an inner room. In a 
little while he returned, and the three stood chatting for 
a moment or so. ''Now, if you'll come this way, I'll 
show you the thing the like of which you have never 
seen before. You may come too, ' ' he laughed, turning 
to my uncle, who was discreetly keeping back ; " I do 
not think you have ever seen the like before." The 
three men entered the room together, but it was in vain 
that my uncle strained his eyes in search of the object 
Baron James had promised to show them. The furniture 
was of the plainest ; bookcases all along the walls ; and 
in the centre of the apartment a somewhat large table, 
on which lay a bandana handkerchief that looked as if 
it had been forgotten there by its owner. ' ' Now, tell 
me if you have ever seen anything like this ?' ' asked 
Baron James, carelessly lifting the foulard, and "dis- 
covering," as the dramatists say, a small mahogany tray 
containing two hundred and twenty rouleaux of louis 
with their wrappers stripped off. The dealer was fairly 
dazzled, and did not answer. There was no **deal" 



My Paris Note-Book. 13 

that morning, the baron deciding that each should 
keep the thing the Hke of which the other had never 
seen. 

To return to the Emperor, who, as I remarked just 
now, was gratitude personified. Shortly after his es- 
cape from Ham, and while he was in London, he went 
one night to see Bouffe in two of his remarkable im- 
personations, viz. , the title-r61es of Le Gamin de Paris 
and Michel Perrin, both which pieces, if I mistake not, 
are known to Englishmen in their English guise of 
**Andy Blake" and ''The Spy" respectively. The 
name of Dion Boucicault is inseparably connected with 
the first play, that of the late Benjamin Webster with 
the other ; but, so far as I am aware, no English or 
foreign actor ever attempted to enact both characters. 
Bouif6, on the contrary, considered this as one of his 
greatest achievements, and felt so proud of it that on 
the days when Le Gamin held the bills, he used to ap- 
pear on the Boulevards as a broken-down old man, 
painfully dragging himself along, though, in reality, he 
was as hale and hearty as ever ; while on the days of 
Michel Perrin, he made it his business to repair to the 
popular promenade spruce and active, with the buoyant 
step of a young fellow, and all this in order to impress 
those who might have seen him on the previous night, 
or those who were going to see him on that night, with 
the perfection of his method of changing his individu- 
ahty. What he delighted in most, though, was to 
represent the stripling of fourteen or fifteen and the 
septuagenarian in the same evening ; and during his 
London engagement at the time just mentioned, he did 
this very frequently. It was on one of these occasions 
that the future Emperor happened to be in the theatre 
in company with Count D'Orsay, who knew the great 



14 My Paris Note-Book. 

actor personally. Prince Louis was very anxious to see 
the transformation actually performed, and his friend 
took him to Bouffe's dressing-room in the interval be- 
tween the two pieces, to the secret annoyance of the 
artist, who, first of all, did not care to discount his 
secrets before the rise of the curtain, and secondly, had 
not much time to entertain visitors. He had not the 
remotest idea of the identity of D'Orsay's companion. 
At the instance of D'Orsay, though, he let him stay, 
to Prince Louis' great delight. Just before they were 
leaving D'Orsay told Bouife whom he had obliged. 

Years went by, and Bouff6, from no fault of his own, 
came to grief. Failing health prevented him from 
taking a permanent engagement. His resources, which 
had never been very large — for it must be remembered 
that in the forties and fifties the salaries of even great 
actors were not what they are now — dwindled to their 
lowest ebb. His debts soon began to worry him. His 
former comrades offered him their services for a fare- 
well performance, which offers were gladly accepted. 
But Bouffe knew that the proceeds of an ordinary the- 
atre, however crammed, and at twice the ordinary 
prices, would only be as a drop of water in the sea of 
his liabilities. As the day fixed upon for the perform- 
ance drew near, his friends pressed him in vain to apply 
to Montigny, the manager of the Gymnase ; Bouff6 
merely shook his head. ''I'm waiting," he said. 
"Waiting for what?" they asked. *' Waiting for the 
Opera House to be given to me," was the answer. 
They simply looked at bim ; they were under the im- 
pression that he had gone mad. But Bouff6 knew what 
he was doing ; he had sent a petition to the Emperor, 
and the moment the latter saw the signature he remem- 
bered the incident in London, and taking up a pen, 



My Paris Note-Book. 15 

wrote on the margin of the document — ^'Pour M. 
Bouffe, ouiy oui^ oui. Napol^on^ 

The receipts exceeded ;£iooo, exclusive of a hand- 
some donation from the Emperor, but notwithstanding 
the general esteem in which Bouffe was held by his fel- 
low actors, this then unprecedented favour aroused a 
good deal of jealousy, and a few days after the event 
my uncle Mark, who was the younger of the two, and 
who often went to see the Emperor either early in the 
morning or after dinner, told him so. "Your Majesty 
has raised a hornet's nest about his head ; henceforth 
every actor of note, and for that matter, every one who 
thinks himself one, will apply to your Majesty for the 
Opera." "And every one who has afforded me as 
genuine a quarter of an hour's amusement as Bouffe 
did, shall have it," was the answer. Thereupon the 
Emperor told my uncle the story as I have noted it 
down, winding up with a — "Besides, it may turn out 
that Bouffe has unwittingly rendered me a service. The 
time may come when I shall have to show a pleasant face 
under circumstances the reverse of pleasant, and the 
lesson learnt from Bouffe that evening will stand me in 
good stead. He showed me how to transform a young 
man into an old one ; I fancy I shall have sufficient in- 
genuity to reverse the process, or better still, to hide 
the ravages of despair beneath a layer oi fard (make- 
up). I have a great admiration for the memory of 
Mazarin ; the thing that appeals most to me is his put- 
ting on rouge on his bed of sickness, which proved to 
be his death-bed." 

One may well doubt whether these words foreshadowed 
a resolution for the future to Louis Napoleon' s mind, but 
they become interesting in connection with M. Zola's 
late revelations in " La Debacle' ' as to the Emperbr hav- 



i6 My Paris Note-Book. 

ing put on rouge on the morning of Sedan. But for an 
author's selfishness, I should have published that story 
eighteen months ago. 

I have already said that my uncles were very fond of 
the Emperor, and to the day of their death maintained 
that he could have given odds to the wittiest French 
journalist of his time, if not with pen in hand, at any 
rate in conversation. Making allowance for their par- 
tiality, the notes I have by me of some of the Emperor's 
sallies lend colour to their assertion. Here is one which, 
until I gave it to a London paper while I was its Paris 
correspondent, had never appeared in print. One morn- 
ing shortly after the Emperor's accession, my uncle 
Joseph — the elder of the two — found him in the bright- 
est of spirits ; he was chuckling to himself, a thing of 
rare occurrence, for, though Louis Napoleon frequently 
smiled, *'his risible nerves seldom left their moorings," 
to use an expression which, albeit that it came from a 
medical man, was nevertheless not scientifically 'accu- 
rate. After they had been chatting for a little while, 
the Emperor said suddenly — ''Those priests are very 
funny now and then." 

' ' Why date, Sire ?' ' replied my uncle, who had read 
a good deal, and who remembered the mot of Mirabeau 
when some one told him that the National Assembly had 
been dull that day. 

' ' You are right, they are funny always, when they are 
not assommantSy^^ assented the Sovereign, who did not 
mind using a popular locution in talking to his friends. 
* ' I have been wasting my breath trying to persuade Si- 
bour" (the then Archbishop of Paris, who was stabbed at 
St. Etienne-du-Mont), "that I cannot remove the tombs 
of, or rather the monuments to, Jean-Jacques and Vol- 
taire from the Panth6on just to please some of his flock." 



My Paris Note-Book. 17 

* * Why do they wish them removed, Sire, seeing that 
these monuments do not contain a pinch of Rousseau's 
or Voltaire's ashes ?' ' 

"That's just what I have been asking him ; but he 
would not answer the question, nor listen to my argu- 
ment. He simply kept repeating that ' his flock felt 
uncomfortable in the presence of these two atheists.' " 

" How did you pacify him. Sire?" 

*'I didn't pacify him at all. I got out of temper 
myself in the end ; and then I exclaimed — ' Look you 
here, Monseigneur, how do you think these two atheists 
feel in the presence of your believers?' That settled 
him, and he did not say another word. " 

Here is another instance of Louis Napoleon's ten- 
dency to take a ' ' topsy-turveydom' ' view of things in 
general, and of serious things in particular. When 
public opinion clamoured for the prosecution of the 
author of "Madame Bovary," the Emperor consented, 
though most reluctantly. He was one of the first who 
had read the book, and in his inmost heart he admired 
both the author and his work. "Then why prosecute 
him, Sire ?' ' asked my uncle Mark. ' ' V 11 tell you why, ' ' 
replied the Emperor, smiling. " If we do not prosecute, 
we shall have every cabman in Paris and in the provinces 
asking for double his fare the moment an affectionate- 
looking couple try to step into his vehicle. Flaubert 
ought to have known better ; if it was absolutely neces- 
sary to his plot to have Emma Bovary and L^on Dupuis 
drive round Rouen for a whole day in a conveyance with 
the blinds down, he ought to have made Leon go to a 
livery stable for the carriage, and not have made him 
take a mere hackney from the rank. This soi-disant, 
unmolested drive round and round the city casts, to 
begin with, and inferentially, a slur upon the vigilance 
b 2* 



i8 My Paris Note-Book. 

of the Rouen police, who, stupid as they may be, would 
not have allowed such a thing to pass unchallenged, and 
who, to make up for their alleged neglect, will stop every 
cab that has its blinds down. They have a perfect right 
to do so in the matter of carriages plying for hire in the 
public thoroughfares, and we shall have the innocent 
uncle with his pretty niece, and the somewhat passee 
aunt with her lamb-like nephew, hauled before the magis- 
trate for outrage aux mceurs. There is, furthermore, 
an outcry already that people cannot get into a hackney 
cab without being fleeced. It is not my fault, after all, 
that the spread of education has reached ^ cabby " — the 
Emperor liked to use an English word now and then — 
' ' and that he has read this masterpiece of realistic fiction. 
No, Flaubert must be indicted ; there will be more scan- 
dals if we do not than if we do." 

I have often wondered since whether Mr. Gilbert 
could have produced a more deliberately comical and 
distorted view of a moral problem. 

I need scarcely say that my uncle's notes, from which 
I extracted the foregoing, were not left open to the 
inspection of a somewhat precocious lad of thirteen, and 
that my own ' ' note-book' ' was not begun until many 
years afterwards. I would state once for all that these 
pages are not exclusively personal recollections ; still I 
claim the right to call myself the author of this book, 
just as the custodian of Madame R6camier's notes 
claimed to be the author of " Madame R6camier's Re- 
collections. ' ' A bon entendeur salut. If I can possibly 
help it, I shall not refer to the subject again, and merely 
assure the reader that I have more precedents than one 
for my claim. 

During this, my first visit to my grand-uncles, which 
was intended to last but a few weeks, but which lasted 



My Paris Note-Book. 19 

uninterruptedly for over four years, I saw many men 
and things, of whom and which I have still a most vivid 
recollection, but most vivid of all is the recollection of 
the sensation produced by the first glimpse of the Boule- 
vards, probably because that sensation is practically re- 
vived whenever I set foot in Paris. Odd to relate, the 
delight, if not the awe, at the sight of that magnificent 
artery, has remained as keen in the man as it was in the 
boy. It stirs something within me which I am not able 
to define exactly, but which must be akin to the sensa- 
tion of the poor old woman I once saw emerge from 
one of the side streets on to the King's Road at 
Brighton. * ' Well, old girl, what do you think of the 
sea?" asked a young fellow, who was evidently her son. 
''Think," replied the old dame, after a long pause ; 
" I can't think, Jim ; I can only thank God for His hav- 
ing shown me something in my life of which there seems 
to be enough and to spare." Perhaps the definition of 
an educated but very unworldly Yorkshireman is bet- 
ter still. I met him on board the steamer, and he asked 
me to recommend him an hotel. I took him to mine, 
and brought him by way of the Rue Auber and the 
Place de F Op6ra on to the Boulevards. It was early in 
February 1882, and the temperature was as mild as that 
of a mid-summer's day. We had driven to the hotel 
by way of the Rue de Lafayette and the Boulevard 
Haussmann. He had not caught a glimpse of the 
Boulevards. After dinner I took him out. "What do 
you think of this ?' ' I asked. He stood for a moment 
as if transfixed, then he answered — " Cowper said that 
'God made the country; man the town.' The devil 
made the country-town, and the angels must have made 
the Boulevards." But on his second visit, which hap- 
pened about eighteen months later, the delight was not 



20 My Paris Note-Book. 

so keen. I merely note this to indicate that my sensa- 
tion in that respect may be abnormal. 

I was not struck to the same degree with the appear- 
ance of the troops, albeit that, child as I was, I had 
heard of their prowess from my father, whom I often 
accompanied in the daytime to his caf^, where he and 
his friends closely followed the various incidents of the 
Crimean War. It was not because these troops were 
travel-stained, and, as a matter of course, threadbare, 
not to say ragged, that my childish admiration kept 
merely **on the simmer, and refused to bubble up." 
In fact, the four or five regiments of the Hne, in their 
patched and worn greatcoats, with their far from bright 
accoutrements, interested me more than the two or 
three regiments of the Guards, in their spick and span 
uniforms, who opened the march. The latter had re- 
turned a few months previously, and been provided for 
afresh. In spite of the magnificent drum-major, the 
bearded sappers with their white leather aprons, the 
inspiriting band headed by its "Jingling Jimmy," my 
boyish mind fell a-criticising the men's physique, and 
began to compare them to the crowds of disbanded 
Englishmen — if Englishmen they were — whom I had 
seen a few weeks before at Rotterdam. They were 
the first red-coats I had beheld since I was a very little 
urchin, and I remember them well now, tall, strapping 
fellows, who seemed giants. The Frenchmen, in ap- 
pearance at any rate, were no better than the ordinary 
Dutch troops, and certainly not as good as the colonial 
ones whom we frequently saw on their way to the ves- 
sels. My scepticism with regard to the real value of the 
French army if compelled to cope unaided with that of a 
hardier race, may have taken root at that moment ; I am 
not prepared to say. Certain is it, that during the many 



My Paris Note-Book. 21 

years which elapsed between that December day and 
the army's utter collapse in 1870, I never implicitly 
believed in its invincibility, and that notwithstanding 
the gorgeous spectacles I witnessed now and then ; 
notwithstanding the results of the Franco-Austrian 
War. I should not like to express an opinion as 
to the results of the next struggle between Germany 
and France, but I intend at some future period to re- 
produce some letters I have by me from uii volo7itaire 
(TMn an, whose patriotism did not blind him to facts, 
and from these the reader will be enabled to judge the 
chances of either party, granting an equal degree of 
valour and staying power to both sides. 

One of the gorgeous spectacles to which I referred 
just now was the return of the troops from Italy in 
1859, on which occasion the Parisians were treated for 
the first time to a sight of the Zouaves and Turcos. 
The latter became even greater favourites with the 
female population than the former ; they were magnifi- 
cent, stalwart fellows, and for the next fortnight could 
be seen with some of the prettiest women in Paris hang- 
ing fondly on their arms. When the Emperor was told 
of this, he smiled, and uttered a sentence which has 
since become proverbial among the French, after Jules 
Noriac had appropriated it in his " Betise Humaine." 
*' Tous les gotits sont dans la nature." Not long after 
that he happened to see a set of ebony brushes intended 
as a birthday present for one of the ladies of the Em- 
press's suite. *' A la bonne heure," he said, "le gotat 
du noir se repand ; voila du Turco sur la table de toilette 
maintenant ; quant ^ moi, en matiere d' amour et d' hy- 
giene, je pr6fere I'ivoire." 

In connection with the Zouaves and Turcos, I have 
before me a note in the handwriting of my younger 



22 My Paris Note-Book. 

uncle, which, read by the light of later events, contains a 
terrible prophecy, and shows once for all the real opinion 
of Napoleon III., not only with regard to those over- 
rated troops, but with regard to the whole of the French 
army. The note is dated August 27th, 1859, conse- 
quently less than a fortnight after the grandiose spectacle 
on the Boulevards. It runs as follows: — ^'* Saw the 
Emperor yesterday, and congratulated him on the mag- 
nificent appearance of the Zouaves and Turcos. To my 
great surprise, he did not seem to share my enthusiasm. 
He hung his head and pulled at his moustache. * Oui, ' 
he said, after a while ; * ce sont, en effet, de tres beaux 
soldats ; c'est le levain, peut-^tre, de I'arm^e fran9aise, 
mais je n'ai guere besoin de vous dire que le levain qui 
fermente trop pent g^ter toute une fournee. II faudrait 
^tre sur, absolument star, de la nature, de la qualite et du 
levain et de la p^te avant de les mettre ensemble. ' ' ' 

This was eleven years before the Franco-German War. 
As in the case of his comment upon the service Bouff6 
rendered him, I refrain from attributing to Louis Napo- 
leon the gift of seeing into the future ; I simply wish to 
add this. In 1870 the inhabitants of Nancy, whatever 
the reaction may have been afterwards, hailed as a relief 
the advent of the German troops, who delivered them 
from the Zouaves. 

Still in connection with the defeat of Francis Joseph 
in 1859, I have a note, the substance of which has never 
been published by the historians, and which, with many 
other things, must have gone far to justify to Louis 
Napoleon's own mind his belief in his star. "Louis 
Napoleon," runs the note in my younger uncle's writing, 
and dated September 1859, ''must have kept a close 
watch on events in France even during the life of his 
cousin the Due de Reichstadt, for about a fortnight ago 



My Paris Note-Book. 23 

he showed me a placard, the existence of which had 
sHpped my memory, though I had seen a similar one on 
the walls of Paris during the July Revolution (1830). 
It is a proclamation emanating from some provisional 
government evidently sitting at the Hotel de Ville, for 
the bill is dated from there, calling upon the French to 
raise the son of the great Napoleon to the throne. ' If 
Francis I. (of Austria) had not been blinded by his 
jealousy of one grandson, his other grandson would not 
have been in the plight he is,' said the Emperor, ' for 
my cousin the Due de Reichstadt would not have been 
pledged to revolutionary Italy as I was ; and it is more 
than probable that I should have gone to my grave as a 
simple prince of the blood. It is by no means an un- 
comfortable position, that of a prince of the blood, if, as 
the English have it, ' ' blood be thicker than water, ' ' 
which unfortunately in a good many cases it is not.^ 
This," remarks my uncle, "was a sly allusion to Jerome 
and his son. 'The Due de Reichstadt,' the Emperor 
went on, * would have married, he might have had a 
child, and even if he had died two years later, as he did, 
I should not have ascended the throne of France ; but 
it is my opinion, ' this very emphatically, ' that he would 
have lived to a very ripe old age away from the Aus- 
trian Court. ^ 

''On my remarking," continues the note, "that 
Francis I. could not have sent a mere lad of nineteen, 
and such a weak lad too, to Paris on the mere strength 
of that bit of paper, the Emperor replied — ' My cousin 
was not as weak as you imagine. Besides, there was no 
need to send him on the mere strength of that bit of 
paper. Some one had already been sent to fetch him, 
and that some one was none other than Talleyrand. I 
am perfectly certain of my facts, for careful inquiry has 



24 My Paris Note-Book. 

convinced me that he was absent from Paris for several 
days.' " 

So far the note of my uncle as relating to his con- 
versation with the Emperor. When the "Talleyrand 
Memoirs' ' appeared, I looked for some possible clue in 
confirmation of the Emperor's statement, without much 
hope of finding it, albeit that long before then I had 
stumbled upon a paragraph to that effect in a work or 
pamphlet, the title of which has entirely slipped my 
memory. I do not think that it was in the ' * M^moires 
de M. de Metternich." I have an idea that it was in 
an interesting study of the Due de Reichstadt, emana- 
ting from a French source. I repeat, however, that I 
considered my search in the ' * Talleyrand Memoirs' ' as a 
forlorn hope, for though I never had the honour of an 
introduction to M. le Due de Broglie, I have watched 
him at work for the last twenty-three years under the 
Third Republic, and I know that he would not willingly 
blacken the memory of Talleyrand needlessly. Still, I 
feel confident that the Emperor was correctly informed, 
and that Talleyrand made the attempt to bring the son 
of the first Napoleon and Marie Louise to Paris during 
the Revolution of 1830 ; hence, the younger branch of 
the Bourbons owes him nothing. Perhaps none was 
better aware of this than Louis Philippe himself when 
he called him ' ' le commissaire-priseur du trone de 
Francey When, after his flight to England in Feb- 
ruary 1 848, Louis Philippe was told that the mob had 
carried that throne to the Place de la Bastille and made 
a bonfire of it, he said to his informant — " That's the 
best thing they could have done with it, seeing that 
Talleyrand is dead, and that he was the only man under 
whose hammer it would have not only fetched its value 
• — though that is not much — but a fancy price." 



My Paris Note-Book. 25 

To return for a moment to the Emperor. In subse- 
quent years I was enabled to gather from my uncle's 
conversation that Louis Napoleon felt by no means 
grateful to the Hapsburgs for the service they had ap- 
parently rendered him by ''suppressing" his cousin the 
Due de Reichstadt ; I am quoting his own words. He 
neither liked nor trusted them, though, of course, the 
position in which he was placed prevented him from 
giving vent openly to his dislike, especially after ' 59, 
when he had defeated Francis Joseph. He was fully 
cognisant of the political mistake he had committed in 
allowing Austria to be crushed in 1866, but in his in- 
most heart he rejoiced at Francis Joseph's humiliation. 

It is not too much to say that the only members of 
the family of the great Napoleon who were absolutely 
loyal to his memory were, besides Madame Laetitia 
Bonaparte, his two cousins, viz., Louis Napoleon and 
Princess Mathilde. Lucien was not disloyal — this is all 
that can be said of him in that respect ; but the rest 
were all more or less indifferent to the man himself, 
though not to his glory. The Emperor and Princess 
Mathilde worshipped the memory of the man apart 
from that of his genius. In their dislike of his enemies 
they discriminated between Russia, England, Prussia, 
and Austria, and their respective rulers. That the 
treatment Napoleon received at St. Helena was never 
entirely effaced from their minds, may be taken for 
granted ; but Czar Nicholas' generous protection of the 
Countess Demidoff against her husband, and Queen 
Victoria's hospitality to Louis Napoleon, had done 
much to take the edge off their resentment ; as for 
Francis Joseph, they could never be brought to look 
with any degree of cordiality upon him. They could 
never forget that he was the grandson of Francis I. of 
B 3 



26 My Paris Note-Book. 

Austria, and above all, the nephew of Marie Louise. 
The latter' s name — to use plain language for once — 
stank in their nostrils ; and during another conversa- 
tion, still on the subject of Talleyrand's ascertained 
mission to Vienna, the Emperor warmed to his subject, 
and let out the following: — " My cousin the Due de 
Reichstadt was by no means the weakling he has been 
represented. The deception was a deliberate one on 
the part of his grandfather, his mother, Metternich, and 
the whole of the Austrian Court generally, and, I am 
sorry to say, on the part of an eminent Frenchman too, 
who, at the outset at any rate, abetted it with his eyes 
open. I am alluding to Antoine (afterwards Baron) 
Dubois, the great accoucheur, who brought my cousin 
mto the world. ' ' Then the Emperor went off, appar- 
ently at a tangent. " Have you read Balzac's ' Physi- 
ologic du Mariage' ? " he asked. ' ' You have ; well, you 
recollect that clever chapter on the Family Doctor, in 
which the author warns husbands against him. Being 
a medical man yourself, you will be able to appreciate 
the truth and humour of it better than I can. Of course 
the woman's wiles described must be as old as the hills, 
or at any rate contemporaneous with the institution of 
monogamy among Christians, and Balzac did, after all, 
nothing more than draw attention to these wiles in his 
admirable way ; but who would have suspected that 
prim archduchess, who looked and acted as if butter 
would not melt in her mouth, of having recourse to 
them in order to get rid of the marital endearments of 
a man she disliked ? For that was what she undoubt- 
edly did do, and Dubois helped her — I repeat, with his 
eyes open, for I am loath to believe that so great an au- 
thority on those matters as he was could have been un- 
consciously deceived. And yet, on the plea that Marie 



My Paris Note-Book. 27 

Louise's confinement had been a dangerous one, he 
strictly forbade the Emperor all further cohabitation 
with the woman who a few years later gave birth to 
three children within a comparatively short period with- 
out the least hurt to her health. It was Dubois who 
sounded the first alarm with regard to the constitution 
of the King of Rome. He was bound to a certain ex- 
tent to do so — at first in order to justify his prohibition. 
Did he ever find out that he had been beguiled, if be- 
guiled he was ? It would be difiicult to say ; but be- 
guiled or not, he was bound to keep up the fiction that 
Napoleon's son was a weakling, to save his own reputa- 
tion. That's how the report first spread ; but there 
was absolutely nothing the matter with my cousin or- 
ganically. He was as healthy as two out of the three 
children Marie Louise bore the Count de Neipperg : 
the first was still-born ; the other two are alive, and, 
barring accidents, likely to live to a hundred. ' ' 

My uncle having remarked that, after all, a woman 
could not force her inclinations, the Emperor nodded 
his head. ' ' I quite agree with you, ' ' he said ; * ' and 
if Marie Louise had simply and openly refused to co- 
habit with my uncle after her son was born, I * would 
have admired rather than blamed her. I would have 
pitied my uncle for the unrequited affection he had con- 
ceived for her, but not have considered her bound to 
requite that affection, seeing the circumstances under 
which the marriage was contracted. She might have 
taken her stand on the fact that she had fulfilled the 
mission for which she had been selected from political 
considerations, namely, the givmg of an heir to the 
Imperial crown, and that henceforth she had no duties 
to perform in that respect. That would have been 
worthy of a woman and of a princess who respects herself, 



28 My Paris Note-Book. 

and who resents the fact of having been sold like an 
Eastern slave both upon the buyer and the seller, 
though she was powerless to prevent the transaction. 
But that she should have shown less concern for the 
glory of a Napoleon than the merest female sutler of 
one of his regiments , that she should have been less 
moved by the downfall of such a giant than the merest 
hind, is a thing I can never forgive nor forget." 

" But is your Majesty so very sure that such was the 
case?" objected my uncle. *' In most of the memoirs 
of the time I seem to have read the contrary." 

' ' Perfectly sure, ' ' repHed the Emperor. ' ' Every one 
of the writers of these memoirs told a deliberate false- 
hood in that respect, though one is bound to acknowl- 
edge, with the most laudable intentions. They them- 
selves were so anxious not to diminish the grandeur of 
the fallen hero by a single inch, that they hesitated to 
write the truth on the subject. They argued that the 
callousness of Marie Louise with regard to the greatest 
man of his time would breed a reaction in the public 
mind with regard to that grandeur. Of course, I am 
alluding to the genuine memoirs, and not to the works 
of historians. But the fact is that Marie Louise did not 
shed a tear either in public or in private from the mo- 
ment she left Paris to that when the abdication of the 
Emperor and his suspected attempt to commit suicide 
was communicated to her. It was the Comte de Sainte- 
Aulaire who undertook to announce the catastrophe to 
her, and I have the tale from his own lips. I do not 
think it has ever found its way in print. It was early 
morning when he reached Blois, and the Empress was 
still in bed. Nevertheless, he was admitted to her pres- 
ence, and she rose into a sitting posture, her feet peep- 
ing from under the coverlet. There was not a cry nor a 



My Paris Note-Book. 29 

word in response to the news, and the messenger, dread- 
ing to look up, lest he should be considered indiscreet, 
face to face with such intense, though silent, grief, kept 
his eyes fixed on the floor. * You are looking at my 
feet, M. de Sainte-Aulaire,' said Marie Louise, after a 
long interval ; * I have always been told they are very 
pretty.' She did not make any further allusion to an 
event which in a few days was to convulse the whole of 
the civilised world, which would and did affect the mean- 
est of menials who had come in contact with the great- 
est captain of all ages. Verily, my uncle was right when 
he said that ' F amour est 1' occupation de I'homme oisif, 
la distraction du guerrier, et F^cueil du souverain. ' " . 

This was the woman who fell desperately in love with 
one of her father's soldiers, Lieutenant-Marshal Count 
Adam Albert von Neipperg, an honourable, upright, 
brave, and clever man, but who, compared to Napoleon, 
was what Mr. Healy is to Daniel O'Connell. When I 
first came upon the above note in my uncle's papers, I 
supplemented it by one of my own, without any definite 
purpose, and merely in obedience to the family craving 
for notes. It may be found interesting, especially at the 
present moment, not as a marginal to the Emperor's 
conversation with my uncle, but as a sidelight on M. 
Victorien Sardou's latest production, Madame Sans- 
GSne, the main interest of which is evolved from an 
alleged intrigue between Count Adam and Marie Louise 
while she was Empress of the French. M. Sardou has 
not the slightest historical authority for the existence of 
such an intrigue, nor for his dramatic situation in the 
first act which represents Count Adam as taking refuge 
from the pursuit of the revolutionary mob in the shop 
of a laundress, afterwards Madame Lefebvre, and finally 
Duchesse de Dantzic. As far as is known. Count Adam 



30 My Paris Note-Book. 

was not in France during the First Revolution, nor did 
he ever see the Archduchess Marie Louise until 1814. 
Assiduous student of history as he may be, M. Sardou 
seems to be ignorant of the way Austrian princesses 
were, and are to a certain extent still, brought up. In 
Marie Louise's case, not only were all the supposedly 
objectionable passages of every book she read bodily 
cut out, but no male creature was allowed within the 
apartments occupied by her, and this prohibition ap- 
plied to the males of the animal world also. True, 
Marie Louise may have fallen in love with Count Neip- 
perg during the few days previous to her departure for 
France, but that is highly improbable, and there is no 
mention of his having been in the suite that accompa- 
nied Marie Louise to the Austrian frontier. Further- 
more, at the period of Marie Louise's departure for 
France, Count Neipperg was married, and had three 
or four children ; his wife only died in 1813, two years 
before the second invasion of France by the allied 
troops, when the Count was invested with the military 
command of the Departments of the Gard, the Ardeche, 
and the Herault. I would not argue the fact of Count 
Neipperg' s being a married man as an absolute bar to 
Marie Louise's sudden passion for him, but the fact con- 
stitutes a presumption against it. We may conclude 
that M. Sardou has drawn entirely upon his imagina- 
tion. The unvarnished truth seems to be this : Count 
Neipperg, "the German Bayard," — as Madame de 
Stael, who knew him personally, called him — was en- 
trusted by Francis L in 18 14 with the task of escorting 
his daughter back to Vienna. From that moment these 
two rarely left one another ; and when two years later 
Marie Louise assumed the sovereignty of the Duchies 
of Parma, Placenza, and Guastallas, secured to her by 



My Paris Note-Book. 31 

the Treaty of Paris, which was ratified at the Congress 
of Vienna in 181 5, she morganatically married Neip- 
perg, who, until then, had simply borne the title of 
chevalier d'honneur. Count Neipperg had four chil- 
dren by his first wife, three of whom met with a tragic 
end. Of his two children by Marie Louise, the Con- 
tessa San-Vitale is the better known, from the part she 
played in the Italian revolutionary movement of '48. 
The son entered the Austrian army with the Italianised 
patronymic of Montenuovo. Personally, I fail to see 
how Neipperg can be made into Newmount, unless the 
Viennese pronunciation is taken into account ; but that 
is a mere detail. 



32 My Paris Note-Book. 



CHAPTER II. 

Napoleoniana— Napoleon I. a bad shot — The Emperor at his best 
when talking about Napoleon I. — Napoleon I. as a patron of the 
drama — About' s Guillery and Lemercier's Christophe Colomb 
— Napoleon I. within an ace of becoming a theatrical manager 
himself— Was Napoleon I. conscious of his future greatness ? — 
Louis Napoleon at Lady Blessington's — He and Charles Dickens 
have their fortunes told — Roger the great tenor — A curious coin- 
cidence — My uncle's opinions about Frenchmen's courage — An 
anecdote of Alexandre Dumas the elder — The Parisians' love of 
spectacular display and dramatic sensation — How Napoleon I. 
provided for it— Napoleon HL an equally good stage-manager, 
though in a difterent way— The truth about the famous "Com- 
mittee of Resistance." 

I HAVE already said that my uncles were favourites 
with Louis Napoleon ; I may add that, though they had 
served under the Prince of Orange (afterwards William 
II. of Holland) during the campaign of 1815, they 
shared to the full the idolatry of the third Napoleon for 
the memory of his uncle, and that this worship of which 
.1 was a constant witness as a child has not been without 
its effect upon me in my later life. I have always found 
it difficult when writing about France to keep the head 
of Napoleon I. out of my memoirs. Le pli est pris ; 
but I trust the reader will not grumble in this instance. 
Nearly all the following anecdotes are to all intents and 
purposes new. 

Both my relatives were very bad shots ; nevertheless, 
during their annual visits to Fontainebleau and Com- 
piegne they always went shooting with Napoleon III., 



My Paris Note-Book. 33 

who, it seems, was a fair marksman. ' ' We must have 
some muffs among us, just as the Spartans had their 
drunken helots, as an example to be avoided," said the 
Emperor, to console them for their frequent discomfiture. 
" If we had not you, we should have to invite M. Thiers, 
and the gamekeepers could not scowl at him as they do 
at you, even if he would come. Besides, you need not 
fret about it ; the Emperor (by which he meant his 
uncle) was even a worse shot than you or your brother 
are ; the only time they put a gun in his hand, he killed 
a poor hound, and went away thinking he had killed a 
stag." 

Thereupon he told them a story, which, though it has 
not been mentioned by any of the great captain's biog- 
raphers, is unquestionably true. "In those days the 
stag, wherever brought to bay, was left for the Emperor 
to kill. One day, however, the Emperor was not to be 
found, and the Master of the Staghounds finished the 
animal with his knife. Just then the Emperor came in 
sight. They hurriedly got the dead stag on its legs, 
propping it up with branches, &c. , &c. , and handed the 
Emperor the 'carabine of honour,' as it was called. 
The Emperor fired, and, of course, the stag tumbled 
over, but at the same time there was a piteous whine 
from one of the hounds, which had been shot through 
the head. The Emperor, who was on horseback, 
wheeled round, utterly unconscious of the mischief he 
had done, saying to one of his aides-de-camp — ' Apres 
tout, je ne suis pas aussi mauvais tireur qu'on ne le 
pretend.' " 

Admirable catiseur as was Napoleon III. when in the 
mood, he shone brightest on the subject o^ his famous 
uncle. There was an almost inexhaustible flow of anec- 
dote absolutely unknown to the biographers, and inter- 



34 My Paris Note-Book. 

larded with quaint comment, mainly tending to show 
the nephew's ever-predominant wish to tread in the 
footsteps of the founder of the dynasty — of course, not 
as a mihtary leader, for Napoleon III., in his wildest 
moments of ambition, was thoroughly aware of his 
shortcomings in that respect, but as a social reformer 
and a patron of art and literature ; like his uncle, in his 
zeal for these latter causes, he often brought about re- 
sults the very opposite to those aimed at. Frenchmen 
will brook no interference with their judgments on 
books, statues, pictures, and plays, albeit these judg* 
ments are nearly always influenced by considerations 
more or less foreign to the true principles of criticism. 
What they resent most Is the supposed or real patronage 
by '* the powers that be" of an author, painter, sculptor, 
or composer. Many a clever production has been posi- 
tively hounded off the stage — for the playhouse lends 
itself most effectually to that kind of cabal — on the mere 
supposition of such patronage; while, on the other 
hand, many a work has been lauded to the skies, and 
hailed with rapture in no way justified by its merits. 
In the instance to which I wish to allude in particular, 
various causes had combined to create a prejudicial feel- 
ing against the author long before his piece saw the 
footlights while the piece itself had not suflicient vitality 
either to withstand the onslaught of the caballers on the 
first two nights, or to recover subsequently from the 
attack. Edmond About was looked upon by all political 
parties with suspicion, if not with positive antagonism. 
His polemical writings satisfied no one. They were too 
literary for the thorough-going politician ; they were 
too political to please the amateur of literature proper, 
who, too frequently perhaps, has an ill-disguised con- 
tempt for the so-called affairs of State. About had 



My Paris Note-Book. 35 

alienated the sympathies of the clerical party, and not 
succeeded in enlisting those of the Liberals and Repub- 
licans. It is not my intention to dwell at length upon 
About himself or upon his writings ; such an attempt 
would be at variance with the plan, or rather absence 
of plan, of this book ; I am merely noting the state of 
pubHc opinion with regard to one of the wittiest French 
writers of the century at the particular period when he 
turned his attention to the stage. His first venture in 
that direction, which took place when I had been but a 
few months in Paris, ought to have taught him that it is 
one thing to have a piece accepted at the Comedie- 
Fran9aise, and another to have it accepted in the Com6- 
die-Fran9aise : but it did not teach him. I recollect my 
yo anger uncle, who had been to the premiere of Guil- 
lery discussing it with his brother next morning at 
breakfast — I am speaking of the mid-day meal — and 
telling him of the hisses and cat-calls most of the situa- 
tions had provoked. Since then I have read the piece, 
and though by no means insensible to the many clever 
things it contains, have come to the conclusion that the 
public were not wrong in attributing its acceptance by 
the "Reading Committee" of the Comedie-Frangaise 
to ''outside influence," and what, to the public's mind, 
was worse, to influence from the ' ' Chateau, ' ' as the 
Tuileries in those days was called. 

The Emperor did not altogether deny the impeach- 
ment, but he denied being responsible for more than the 
initial step, and this brings me back to his ever fresh 
delight of referring to his uncle's doings. ''You are 
right," he said a few days afterwards to my uncle 
Mark, who gave him some particulars of the disturb- 
ances that had occurred on the first night — the piece 
only ran for two — "you are right," he repeated; "I 



36 My Paris Note-Book. 

ought to follow my uncle's system in such matters to 
the bitter end, or else not engage in them at all. I 
cannot imagine how he found time to read plays or to 
have them read to him ; but it is very certain that he did 
find time, and that he recommended no piece personally 
unless he had made himself acquainted with it. That's 
what I ought to have done with Guillery ; but would 
you like to know the whole of my share in the transac- 
tion ? It virtually amounts to this, and to no more. I 
had no need to give About a letter of introduction to 
Arsene Houssaye, who knows him and his worth better 
than I do, but it was Fould who beguiled me into it. I 
know by this time that Fould had an ulterior motive, 
that there was a woman in the whole of this plot ; but I 
did not know it then. As it was, I only said that I 
should be pleased to see M. About' s play enacted at the 
Comedie- Fran^aise. When handing About the letter, 
I made use of Louis Philippe's sentence to Victor Hugo 
when he handed him the pardon of Barbes — ' I give you 
his head, Monsieur ; it will be your business to obtain it 
from my ministers.' Where I have failed, perhaps, is in 
not saying B when I had said A. My uncle would not 
have allowed the piece to be hounded off the stage after 
he had recommended its acceptance. No, as you say, 
he could not have compelled the pubUc to go and see it, 
or to applaud it when they did go, but he would have 
compelled them to sit still and not kick up ' the devil's 
own delight.' How? I'll tell you. By being present 
at the first or second performance ; more probably at 
the third or fourth, if there had been signs of systematic 
opposition at the premiere. The historians of the 
French stage have given Charles X. credit for saying 
to Victor Hugo that in matters theatrical he was simply 
one of the public and no more. My uncle did much 



My Paris Note-Book, 37 

better than coin the mot ; he now and then acted up to 
it ; which Charles X. did not do. Except where he 
detected a real or fancied political allusion, he judged 
impartially ; and when he found that the play failed to 
please the spectators, he counselled its withdrawal, 
however much he liked it himself. But ... he went 
to see it. You have heard of N6pomucene Lemer- 
cier, and you probably know that until the advent of 
the Empire he was sincerely attached to my uncle. 
After that they became estranged, though the Em- 
peror never ceased to speak in the highest terms of 
him. Both were, however, exceedingly obstinate, and 
neither the one nor the other would take the first step 
towards a renewal of their friendship. In the heyday 
of my uncle's glory, Lemercier brought out a play at the 
Od6on, entitled Christophe Colomb. Lemercier, it ap- 
pears, had more genius than all the dramatists of the 
Empire put together, and in this Christophe Colomb 
he made an attempt to break through the iron chain of 
the three unities of time, place, and action. Odd to 
relate, the most violent opposition to this innovation 
came from the students of the Quartier Latin, the pre- 
decessors of those who, a score of years later, led the 
vanguard of the partisans of the elder Dumas and Victor 
Hugo against the classicists. The Emperor had neither 
read nor recommended the play ; in fact, to be fair, the 
hostility shown to Christophe Colomb was not a protest 
against the supposed patronage of the sovereign, but the 
soi-disant vindication of a purely arbitrary literary con- 
ventionality. Nor need we suppose for a moment that 
the students were influenced in their attack by the well- 
known estrangement between the dramatist and the 
Emperor, which, on the face of it, would afford them a 
guarantee of non-interference on the latter' s part ; and 

4 



38 My Paris Note-Book. 

from what I have heard of Lemercier, I feel confident 
that he harboured no such a suspicion. But in order to 
prevent the germ of such a thought sprouting in the 
pubHc's mind, the Emperor took the matter up after the 
first night, which had already been fruitful in broken 
heads and limbs. There was a second performance ' by- 
command ;' on which occasion there was a strong display 
of military and police, who, if anything, aggravated the 
situation, for over three hundred students were arrested, 
the blood flowed freely, and the unmarried among the 
rioters were ordered to be incorporated in a regiment 
under marching orders for Germany. ' They had better 
vent their bellicose ardour on the enemy than on their 
own countrymen,' said the Emperor ; and I am afraid 
there would have been no appeal from his decision, 
which spread like wildfire through the capital, and 
would have been sufficient to strike terror into the 
boldest, but for the sequel. The Emperor would not 
give in, and he decided that there should be a third per- 
formance, at which he and the Empress would be present. 
On the night in question, the house, as you may imagine, 
was crammed from floor to ceiling, while the streets 
leading to the Odeon were blocked by eager and expect- 
ant crowds. The first two acts went ofl" without a hitch ; 
the scene was laid in France, and there had been no 
opposition to them, for the principle of the unities for 
which the students battled was not violated. It was the 
change from terra firma to the deck of Columbus' vessel 
that had aroused their ire. At the opening of the third 
act the Emperor was seen to straighten himself, while 
Josephine looked uneasy. Every one knew that the 
critical moment had come ; no one was deceived by the 
Emperor's apparent attention to the business of the 
stage ; they caught him casting sidelong glances at the 



My Paris Note-Book. 39 

house itself. A deep silence had fallen upon the latter, 
a silence so intense that, without exaggeration, one might 
have heard a pin drop. This went on for several minutes, 
when suddenly there arose upon the air a gentle, soft 
breathing, as of so many people catching what the 
English call * forty winks. ' Thereupon the Emperor 
looked round. The auditorium presented a most 
curious sight. From the upper galleries to the front 
benches of the pit, three-fourths of the spectators had 
donned white nightcaps, with large tassels standing 
erect ; their heads were reclining on their breasts, and 
they seemed wrapt in peaceful slumber. The Emperor 
burst out laughing, and Lemercier's play was virtually 
doomed, though it ran for another eight nights. The 
rioters of the second night were not drafted into the 
regiment under marching orders." 

I need scarcely remind the reader that the conver- 
sations of my grand-uncles with Napoleon III. extended 
^T)ver a period of several years, and that, many of my notes 
being undated, I am unable to reproduce them in their 
chronological order ; but the following extract is appar- 
ently connected with the foregoing, and may have been 
recorded on the same day. There is, however, no evi- 
dence to that effect ; it may therefore refer to a subse- 
quent or previous conversation on the same subject. 

' ' Yes, ' ' said the Emperor, ' ' my uncle took a great 
interest in the theatre even before he made his mark in 
the world. It is not generally known that he was once 
within an ace of becoming an impresario himself In 
1792 the Italian performers, with the exception of one, 
left Paris. They did not feel their heads safe on their 
shoulders, and subsequent events proved that their fears 
were not altogether groundless. Shortly afterwards, the 
one who had remained was denounced as suspect^no 



40 My Paris Note-Book. 

reason was given for the accusation, nor was there any 
need in those days, and brought before Fouquier-Tin- 
ville. His name was Puppo. ' What was your occu- 
pation under the old regime f asked the pubUc prose- 
cutor of the Revolutionary Tribunal. ' I played the 
violin,' answered Puppo. * What are you doing at 
present ?' was the next question. * I am playing the 
violin,' was the reply. 'What do you intend to do in 
the future?' ' I intend to play the vioHn,' said Puppo. 
'That seems to me reasonable enough,' growled the 
prosecutor. ^ You are acquitted. ' 

" Puppo' s next would-be employer, who was none 
other than the celebrated Mile. Montansier, did, how- 
ever, not fare so well. She had made a great deal of 
money, and built a theatre, which she intended to devote 
to Italian opera, in the Rue de la Loi ' ' (now the Rue de 
Richelieu). " She was known to have been a favourite 
of Marie-Antoinette, and Chaumette denounced the 
enterprise as an attempt on her part to set the Biblio- 
theque Nationale on fire. The theatre was closed, and 
she herself imprisoned for ten months. It was after her 
liberation that my uncle was introduced to her by Mme. 
Dugazon, the celebrated actress. He was then a poor 
lieutenant, without a penny in the world ; she was sixty- 
three, but exceedingly well to do. It appears that he 
was going to marry her ; meanwhile, I feel certain that 
there was a liaison between them. It was Seveste who 
first told me of this. You remember Seveste, who, in 
conjunction with his brother, used to run several sub- 
urban theatres, and who was the immediate predecessor 
of Arsene Houssaye at the Comedie-Fran9aise. He 
had the story from his father, who was an actor in Mile. 
Montansier' s company. As I told you, I had never 
heard the story before, nor do I think that it was ever 



My Paris Note-Book. 41 

known publicly ; but I caused enquiries to be made, and 
I ascertained its perfect truth. It was only then that I 
understood why my uncle, by the decree of Moscow, 
had ordered 300,000 francs to be paid to Mile. Montan- 
sier. The money was ostensibly a kind of ' damages' 
for the loss she had sustained by the closing of her 
theatre, for which at the time she claimed seven millions 
of francs, which she did not get ; in reality, it was what 
the English call ' conscience money,' or, better still, * a 
compensation for breach of promise of marriage.' " 

* ' Do I think that my uncle had a presentiment of 
his future greatness ?' ' said Napoleon on another occa- 
sion. ^ * Frankly, I do not think he had when he was 
merely a poor lieutenant of artillery. I do not think 
so, and this in spite of the many stories to that effect 
by my uncles and father. On the face of it, I doubt 
whether he would have dreamed of marrying a woman 
old enough to be his grandmother, as was Mile. Mon- 
tansier ; nay, I doubt whether he would have married 
Josephine de Beauharnais under the circumstances, and 
yet, here is a proof that he had some such presenti- 
ment ; but it was after he had his foot on the first rung 
of the ladder. I am not certain whether it was the son 
of Berthier (the son of the first Prince de Neufchatel et 
de Wagram) or Saint- Hilaire who told me the story, 
but it was one of these two, and though either of these 
two might have printed it, I do not think they did. 
At that time my uncle was a lieutenant- colonel, and in 
the habit of visiting General d' Augeranville, who was 
Berthier' s brother-in-law, consequently my informant's 
uncle. One evening after a dinner-party at which Mme. 
Tallien was present also, one of the guests proposed to 
go and have ices at Frascati, a proposal which was 
unanimously approved. They started on foot, and 

4* 



42 My Paris Note-Book. 

their way lay through the Place Vendome, which at 
that particular period was a howling wilderness, dark 
and deserted at night especially, and, moreover, dis- 
figured by the remains of the statue of Louis XIV., 
which the revolutionaries had destroyed. When they 
got to the middle of the square, my uncle stopped and 
drew his companions' attention to the terrible state of 
decay around him. ' The square itself is magnificent,' 
said my uncle ; ' but it wants something grandiose in the 
centre, and promenaders to impart life and bustle to it.' 
'Statues have had their day, my dear commandant; 
and if they had not, ' replied General D' Augeranville, 
*I fail to see whom or what we could put there.' *I 
was not exactly thinking of a statue, Tnon general,^ 
mildly protested my uncle. * What I was thinking of 
was a column like that of Trajan in Rome, or else an 
immense sarcophagus that would hold the ashes of the 
great captains of the Republic' ' Both ideas are good,* 
remarked Madame d' Augeranville ; ' but I should prefer 
a column.' 'And we'll have that column one day,' 
smiled my uncle, ' if they let Berthier and myself have 
a chance. What say you, Berthier?' he added, turn- 
ing to the future hero of Wagram. * What do I say ?' 
answered Berthier ; ' I say, that as far as I am con- 
cerned, the dream is too splendid to be realised.' 
As far as I am personally in question," Napoleon III. 
went on, ' ' people are perfectly correct in crediting me 
with what they choose to call 'fatalism.' From the 
moment I began to think for myself, I had an unalter- 
able conviction that I should rule over France one day ; 
but if I had wavered for an instant in that belief, the 
Macbethian episode I am going to relate to you would 
have revived that belief, and for evermore. It hap- 
pened in London in 1846, shortly after my escape from 



My Paris Note-Book. 43 

Ham. One afternoon I was at Lady Blessington's, and 
talking to my hostess, when the servant brought in a 
letter, and told her that the bearer, an elegantly dressed 
young woman, was in the ante-room. I stood aside 
while Lady Blessington opened the letter, and after 
having read it, she looked up. ' Do you believe in 
palmistry?' she asked point-blank. Though I failed to 
guess the drift of her question, I answered as frankly — * I 
believe in my own instinct, rather than in the prophe- 
cies of fortune-tellers, irrespective of the methods by 
which they profess to arrive at their predictions ; but, 
after all, it would not be very wonderful if I did believe 
in such predictions, seeing that my grandmother made 
a special favourite of Mile. Lenormand^ and my mother, 
to a certain extent, was tarred with the same brush. 
But why do you ask ?' 

" 'I'll tell you,' said Lady Blessington. 'Here is a 
letter from a friend in Paris, introducing the bearer as 
one of the most astonishing chiromancers since the days 
of the woman you just named. In fact, the letter says 
that she is a pupil of Mile. Lenormand. What shall 
we do ?' 

" Frankly," the Emperor went on, "I did not know 
what to %ay. It was, as I have told you, shortly after 

» Mile. Lenormand lived for fifty years in the Rue de Tournon, 
facing the Luxembourg. She was the mistress of Hebert, the 
Jacobin, the editor of the infamous Pere Duchene (the first of the 
name ; the second was edited during the Commune by M. Alphonse 
Humbert, the late President of the present Paris Municipal Coun- 
cil). Some compromising revelations led to her arrest. During 
that period it appears she predicted the future grandeur of Jo- 
sephine de Beauharnais, and when these predictions were realised, 
became the fashionable fortune-teller. She died in 1843. Among 
the celebrated personages who attended her funeral was Jules 
Janin. . . 



44 My Paris Note-Book. 

my escape from Ham, and my aspirations and affairs 
were pretty well known in the circles I visited ; but 
though there were a great many people who sympa- 
thised with both, there were many more who treated 
me as a rank impostor : politely, but nevertheless as a 
rank impostor. Especially was this the case with those 
who were perhaps nearest to the throne, and I need not 
tell you that the majority of those at the Court took 
their cue from them. But three years before that there 
had been a visit of Queen Victoria and her family to 
Eu, and among the upper and upper middle classes 
there was a sincere wish to live in amity with the d' Or- 
leans, the head of which house was not only looked 
upon as a model ruler, but as a model father and hus- 
band, which, from an English point of view, was of 
supreme importance. I doubt whether at that time I 
gave much promise to the uninitiated of becoming 
either a model ruler, a model husband, or a model 
father. Worse than all, though the principal organs 
of the press, with the exception of one, left me severely 
alone, there was every now and then a good deal of 
tittle-tattle, founded upon truth or the reverse, about 
me in the smaller papers. I felt that an interview like 
this with a fortune-teller, if it leaked out— and it was 
sure to leak out — would be setting people's tongues 
wagging, and at that particular moment, for reasons of 
my own, I did not wish to be talked about ; and yet, 
call it superstition, or what you will, I wished to see 
the pupil of Mile. Lenormand very much indeed. So 
I did not know what to say, and kept silent. But a 
fellow-guest to whom I had been talking when the ser- 
vant brought the letter, and who had overheard Lady 
Blessington's question and my reply, came to the rescue. 
* Why not test the lady's powers on the spot?' he said. 



My Paris Note-Book» 45 

* On whom ?' asked our hostess. ' On the Prince, on 
me, on any one you Hke,' he repHed. 

' * In another minute the bearer of the letter was shown 
into the room. She was young — I should say under 
thirty — good-looking, well dressed, and her manner 
betokened the well-bred woman. After a few words 
my fellow-guest who had spoken stepped forward and 
held out his hand. ' Is it with regard to your past or 
your future that you would be informed?' asked the 
new-comer. ' Oh, I know all about my past ; I would 
like to know about my future,' he answered, laughing ; 
' but tell me, Madame, have you ever seen me before ?' 
' I arrived in London this morning, Monsieur — how 
could I have seen you before?' saying which, she took 
hold of his hand and began to examine it very carefully. 
She was evidently impressed with his good looks, for it 
was with a sigh of relief that she spoke. * Your life, 
Monsieur, will be peaceful, and your death painless ; 
but you'll not live till a very advanced age. One day 
you and one o^ your children will escape death by 
something very little short of a miracle. ' 

* ' Then she turned to me, seeing that I was waiting. 
She examined my hand over and over again, but to our 
great surprise did not utter a word, and kept looking in 
turns at our hostess and at us. At last she shook her 
head. * It's too absurd, my lady,' she said ; 'it's abso- 
lutely ridiculous what I am reading in this gentleman's 
hand ; and yet I can read nothing else. ' 

* * ' Never mind the absurdity of it, ' I remarked. 
*Tell us.' * Well, Monsieur,' she repHed, 'I can only 
answer you by the line of your greatest poet — "Mac- 
beth, thou shalt be king hereafter ;" in other words, 
Monsieur, your hand tells me that you will reign over a 
great nation.' The other visitors — there were not many 



46 My Paris Note-Book; 

—had gathered around us, and looked somewhat in- 
credulously at Lady Blessington — for I must tell you 
that she had left the apartment herself in search of the 
fortune-teller, instead of asking the servant to show her 
in. I myself felt shaken in my confidence in my hostess, 
but she assured me subsequently that she had not ex- 
changed a word with her visitor. The name of my fel- 
low-guest whose fortune was told before mine, will Hve 
when mine has been utterly forgotten : it is Charles 
Dickens. Up till now the miracle that was to save his 
life and that of one of his children has not happened, 
and I sincerely trust that the danger predicted to him 
may be averted whenever it comes ; nevertheless, I can- 
not close my eyes to the fact that in my case the 
prophecy has proved true."* 

I may state here that my uncles, in spite of their 
scientific training, believed in palmistry, in fortune- 
telling, in spiritualism, and the rest. I am not called 
upon to give my own views on such matters. I should 
be sorry to say, though, that I do not believe in them. 
Anyhow, here is a story which I found among their 
notes, and which might have justified their belief in 
things not dreamt of in ordinary people's philosophy. 
I may remark that the note was fastened with a wafer 
to that just given, and that it is dated 30th July 1859. 
It relates to the accident that befell the eminent tenor 
Roger, the *' creator" of the title-role of Meyerbeer's 
Prophete^ a few days previously, which accident cost 



"^ I need scarcely remind the reader that Dickens was in the ter- 
rible railway accident at Staplehurst, and escaped unhurt. On 
that day he had upon him the MS. of " Our Mutual Friend," one 
of his offspring — though begotten of his brain. When the accident 
happened, one of my uncles was dead, and the other dangerously 
ill ; but I know that the Emperor was terribly affected by it. 



My Paris Note-Book. 47 

him his right arm. On the day of the accident (26th or 
27th July '59), Roger expected some guests at his coun- 
try house, several miles distant from Paris ; among 
others the well-known musical critic Fiorentino, and the 
celebrated prima-donna Mme. Borghi-Mamo, the same 
who worked herself up to the required pitch by frequent 
libations of liquorice water and pinches of snuff. On 
looking at a brace of pheasants which he had shot a few 
days previously, Roger concluded that they were but 
* * poor things, ' ' and decided to go and shoot another 
brace, from which it would appear that the French 
gourmet of those days did not insist on having his game 
''high." At a couple of hundred yards from his park 
gates Roger put down his gun, in order to jump a nar- 
row ditch or a hedge, I do not know which — I should 
think the latter : for when he got to the other side, his 
gun was still sufficiently near for him to take hold of it, 
which, in fact, he did. Unfortunately, he caught hold 
of it by the barrel ; the stock and butt-end got entangled 
in the undergrowth ; the gun went off, and shattered 
his right forearm. Five hours later the Hmb had to be 
amputated ; and Drs. Laborie and Huguet, who had 
been summoned in hot haste from Paris to perform the 
operation, told my uncles that while under the influence 
of chloroform, Roger sang the romance of Raoul {Plus 
blanche que la blanche hermine') as they had never heard 
him sing it on the stage. 

"It appears, ' ' writes my uncle, ' ' that Roger Is out 
of danger. I met Fiorentino yesterday afternoon in the 
Rue Vivienne. He is absolutely mad with grief; he 
cries aloud that he is the cause of the accident. Like 
all Italians, he is terribly superstitious, but this is undoubt- 
edly the most wonderful instance of superstition that 
has ever come under my notice. We walked as far as 



48 My Paris Note-Book. 

the Boulevards together ; we sat down at Tortoni's, and 
there he told me the story. Some years ago when 
Roger lived in the Rue Rochechouart, he gave a supper, 
at which, among others, Anicet Bourgeois, Berlioz, and 
Fiorentino himself were present. Towards three or 
four in the morning the guests became somewhat noisy, 
and Fiorentino got up * to stretch his legs,' as he said. 
After looking for a while at the pictures on the walls 
of the dining-room, and especially at a beautiful 'full- 
length' of Roger, Fiorentino strayed into the next room 
which contained a small but interesting collection of fire 
and side arms, whence he issued in about ten minutes or 
a quarter of an hour, carrying a fowling-piece or some 
such weapon in his hands. During his absence the fun 
had grown more fast and furious, and Fiorentino evi- 
dently became infected with it,, for he began to handle 
the gun in the most reckless manner, taking aim at 
every one in turns, and finally pointing the muzzle at 
Berlioz. * I am going to kill BerHoz,' he said ; ' Berlioz 
is a formidable rival ; he is in my way as a musical critic. 
Berlioz, you had better make your will, and appoint 
me your successor at the Debats.' Berlioz, it appears, 
turned very pale, and shook with fear, though Roger 
assured him that there was no danger, that the gun was 
not loaded. Seeing which, Fiorentino changed his aim. 
* Berlioz is not worth the killing, at any rate not from 
my point of view. I should not get his place at the 
Debats, for they would say I had used undue influence. 
I have got a grudge against the grand opera and against 
Meyerbeer, for not having given me a bit of his genius, 
so I'll kill Roger instead ; that will stop the receipts at 
the Rue Le Peletier. Thereupon Fiorentino took aim 
at his host, who, sure of the gun being unloaded and 
of his friend's cool head and hand, did not budge an 



My Paris Note-Book. 49 

inch. But in another second Fiorentino changed his 
mind again. ' There is no pleasure in kilUng Roger ; 
he isn't even afraid of dying. But I must kill some- 
thing ; I'll kill his portrait.' With which he turned the 
muzzle towards the * full-length' of Roger, pulled the 
trigger, and, to everybody's horror, simply riddled the 
canvas with shot. The most curious part of the story, 
though, is this. The most terrible gash in the portrait 
was in the right forearm, the presentment of the fore- 
arm which three days ago was carried to the Hospital 
Beaujon to show that Drs. Labordie and Huguet had 
no alternative but to amputate. Fiorentino refuses to 
be comforted. He says that but for his mad freak of 
years ago, all this would not- have happened ; that 
Roger is reaping the penalty of his (Fiorentino' s) 
tempting of Providence." 

Here is another note dated a few days previously, 
and on an entirely different subject, although it also 
deals with a prediction to those who will read between 
the lines. 

' ' The war is at an end, and I for one am glad of it. 
This joy does not spring absolutely from purely humane 
motives, though I would not hurt a fellow- creature — 
and I include animals among my fellow- creatures — if I 
could help it. But I believe war to be one of the clever 
devices of nature to get rid of the superfluous population. 
Proof whereof is, that when science fashions a Jenner to 
stay the mortality from small-pox by inoculation, nature 
almost immediately afterwards produces a Napoleon, 
lest too overcrowded Europe should get still more over- 
crowded. Hence, it is not a horror of the bloody 
scenes on the battlefields, nor from a feeling of sympa- 
thy with the relatives of those who perish, that I am 
glad. Of course, I feel for those who sustain such irre- 
c d 5 



50 My Paris Note-Book. 

parable losses, still my joy does not spring from a posi- 
tive hankering after peace. The fact is, that one gets 
so dreadfully tired of the constant bragging of the 
French. No one ever denies their courage, so why 
should they be always thrusting it down people's throats, 
and by so doing inferentially cast a suspicion on that of 
other nations ? A friend of mine who happened to be 
at Marseilles when some of the troops took ship there, 
told me that all the while there was the cry — * Eh, Mes- 
sieurs les voyageurs, prenez vos billets pour T Autriche.' 
After all, the Quadrilateral is a good distance from 
Vienna. Then there are illustrations which make one's 
gorge rise. I saw one the other day, in which a chas- 
seur de Vincennes was seated on the ground, calmly 
smoking his pipe. Before him were two Austrian 
grenadiers, not attacking, but ready to repel an attack. 
Text : One Austrian grenadier to the other — ' Eh bien, 
il ne nous attaquera done pas, ce petit Franfais ?' The 
chasseur de Vincennes — ' J'attends que vous soyez six.' 
If ever the hour of defeat sounds again for France, 
which I trust will not happen during my lifetime, all 
this will be remembered against her ; of that I feel cer- 
tain. And yet that same overweening confidence — I 
will not call it by a harsher name— when displayed by 
others, provokes their ire to a degree ; they have no 
words sufficiently contemptuous to stigmatise such outre- 
cuidance. It appears that the authorities at Turin seized 
iive or six letters with the Vienna postmark, and 
addressed to Austrian officers, 'Bureau restant^ Turin.* 
The writers of these letters took the triumphal entry of 
the Austrians into the capital of Piedmont for granted ; 
the difference between the writers, and the French 
troops shouting — ' Messieurs les voyageurs, prenez vos 
billets pour I'Autriche,' was, all things considered, not 



My Paris Note-Book. 51 

so very great ; but to listen to the French, the thing 
was too monstrously ridiculous and despicable." * 

* ' According to the official bulletins, the losses on the 
Austrian side were invariably terrible, while the French 
casualties were scarcely worth mentioning. Even Alex- 
andre Dumas, who, Heaven knows, can be Chauvinistic 
enough, put his back up against this constant and sys- 
tematic perversion of the truth. But, of course, it was 
done in his own inimitable way. The other night when 
he was sitting at Tortoni's, the news of the victory at 
Montebello had just reached Paris. Dumas' face looked 
very grave, while everyone else's was beaming with sat- 
isfaction and delight. At last they asked him the reason 
of his seeming depression. ' Well, ' he said slowly, ' it is 
quite true, I feel sadly grieved, and that notwithstanding 
our victory, or rather because of our victory, for I am 
concerned about the 400 or 500 of our countrymen that 
are gone and standing at the gates of Heaven without 
the remotest chance of being admitted. I am not very 
religious myself, but I fancy that when a man goes all 
the way up to Heaven, he does not care to have the 
gates shut in his face, and that's what Peter is doing to 
them. ' We all knew that something good was coming, 
and humoured him. * Do you mean the 400 or 500 
men that fell at Montebello ?' asked some one. ' I mean 
400 or 500 of those that have fallen,' was the answer, 
' for that Peter is an obstinate brute.' We looked puz-* 
zled, seeing which Dumas explained — ' You see, I am, 
as you are aware, in communication with the spirits' 
(Dumas had pretensions that way) * and I have just re- 

* On the evening of Mars-la-Tour, some of the German generals 
spent "a most comfortable night" in a French country house, and 
on inquiry found that Bazaine had sent word to have it prepared 
for him. 



52 My Paris Note-Book. 

ceived the news that there are tremendous rows. Peter 
got the official bulletin which mentions 400 or 500 ; it 
happens that there are more than 1000, and he is treat- 
ing the rest as rank impostors, shouting that they have 
donned the French uniform, in order to impose upon 
him ; and he swears he's not going to stand it. That's 
why I am so sad.' With which he got up and recited 
La Fontaine's fable ' Le Lion abattu par 1' Homme.' 

" ' L'ouvrier vous a dejus ; 
II avait liberte de feindre ; 
Avec plus de raison nous aurions le dessus, 
Si mes confreres savaient peindre.' 

* * This was a sly allusion to the various sketches from 
the battlefields that were already reaching us, and in 
which the Austrians never seemed to have ' the ghost 
of a chance.' It was especially a kind of witty protest 
against the Ministry of War which had tacitly invited 
this one-sided delineation of events by the despatch to 
the Quadrilateral of a staff of young artists with the 
high-sounding title of ' Painters to the Ministry of War.' 
I happened to see one of these, M. Armand Dumaresq, 
at the moment of his departure ; he wore a uniform 
specially designed for the staff : dark blue tunic, light 
blue trousers, and — a sword by his side. It stands to 
reason that no impartial accounts could come from such 
a source." 

I have an idea that my uncle was not merely satisfied 
with consigning these thoughts to paper, but mentioned 
them to the Emperor. I cannot say for certain at what 
period, but it was probably after the Emperor's return 
from Italy, perhaps when he congratulated him on the 
appearance of the Zouaves and Turcos. At any rate, 
the note transcribed below appears to me to contain an 
allusion to some such conversation. 



My Paris Note-Book, 53 

* * * Take it for granted, ' said the Emperor, the other 
morning, while we were talking about the craving for 
spectacular display and dramatic surprises of the Pari- 
sians ; ' take it for granted that Napoleon I. knew the 
idiosyncrasies of the Parisians in that respect better 
than any ruler who has come after him, and perhaps 
better than any ruler that went before. He has been 
accused of pandering to these idiosyncrasies ; he prob- 
ably did, and he was wise in his generatioUo The news 
of an important victory was never published to the 
Parisians until rumours of a serious defeat had been cir- 
culated beforehand. Of course, the sudden change 
from grief to joy produced a startHng effect, but you 
must remember that with regard to the transmission of 
news, we are living under entirely different conditions. 
In the smallest campaign we have the correspondents 
of the foreign papers on every side of us, not to men- 
tion the correspondents of our own press, who are 
scarcely more discreet than the rest. No, decidedly, 
Napoleon I. was better off in that respect than any of 
his successors, including his nephew. It has often been 
said that he was a great actor, or, at any rate, a stage- 
manager of genius. Great as he may have been, I 
fancy that as a stage-manager I am as great as he ; for 
there are a good many political dramas — or, if you like 
it better, comedies — enacted, in which the wires which 
set the puppets in motion are not only absolutely invis- 
ible to the public, but the identity of the wire-puller a 
profound secret. I know I may trust you implicitly, so 
I will tell you a story. Have you ever noticed on the 
walls of Paris the bills of that famous ' Committee of 
Resistance,' the guiding spirits of which have succeeded 
in baffling all the researches of the police for the last 
ten or eleven years, for if I remember aright, it began 

5* 



54 My Paris Note-Book. 

to exhibit its manifestos and warnings and threats almost 
immediately after the June disturbances during the 
Second Republic ?' 

' ' I nodded assent, for I remembered very well ; in 
fact, it would have been difficult not to remember ; for 
from the moment of its birth the ' Committee' was bent 
upon reminding us of its existence, at every hour of 
the day, and for that matter, at every hour of the night. 
It sounded its first cry while Paris was still reeking with 
the blood shed during those two terrible days in June, 
1849, and henceforward, at every shock, at every crisis, 
its concisely worded bills appear on the walls of the 
capital. The ' Committee' jeers and flouts at Lamar- 
tine ; it withers Cavaignac with its contempt ; after the 
review at Satory, it holds the Prince-President up to 
ridicule ; it endeavours to strangle the Empire * in the 
making,' and when it finally comes into the world, the 
* Committee' worries and harasses it at every turn and 
twist with bills scarcely larger than the size of one's 
hand, but which, nevertheless, do their work, for not a 
day goes by but what the Constitutionnel and the Pa- 
trie, and other Conservative papers, draw attention to 
'another manifesto,' and besiege the Prefecture of 
Police with so-called clues to the whereabouts of the 
'Committee's' head-quarters. But it is all in vain: 
this powerful police, powerful in spite of its many short- 
comings, has not succeeded in laying hands once in 
nearly twelve years on one of the members of the ' Com- 
mittee,' let alone on its chief. 

" I remembered all this, so I nodded assent. ' Well,' 
remarked the Emperor, ' what if I were to tell you that 
this dreaded ' ' Committee' ' has virtually no existence, 
save in the imagination of one individual, or, to be 
positively accurate, that the whole of that Committee 



My Paris Note Book. 55 

consists of that one individual ?' I must have looked 
very incredulous, for the Emperor went on immediately 
— ' I see you doubt my word, but what I am telling- you 
is a fact, nevertheless. If you want a better proof, go 
and see Fleury as you leave here ; you are sure to find 
him at this hour in the Cour de Caulaincourt (the Im- 
perial stables), and ask him about the " Committee of 
Resistance." You may tell him that I give him leave 
to speak. But you may take my word for it. I am 
telling you the absolute truth. The man's name is 
Pr^aut de Morand — but of the affix I am not sure. He 
Hves in the Grande Rue des Batignolles ; he has been a 
journalist or a printer in the south — I believe a printer ; 
for though the handbills which set Paris a-wondering 
every now and then, and are supposed to terrify me 
out of my wits, are produced with my money, I do not 
know who prints them ; nor does Fleury, of whose 
identity Preaut pretends to be ignorant, though I have 
my doubts about that also.' 

* ' ' With your money ?' I said. 

' ' ' With my money, ' replied the Emperor. * I will 
tell you how it happened. You know that Fleury, ac- 
cording to his own account, is an early riser ; according 
to that of others, he simply goes to bed very late. The 
Bible says — ''Let not him that girdeth on his harness 
boast himself as he that putteth it off. ' ' Fleury, though 
he never boasts about anything, mistakes the taking 
off of his harness for the girding of it on. Anyhow, 
one morning in the summer of '53, he was sitting at the 
window of a house in the Faubourg Poissonniere, oppo- 
site the Conservatoire, just at daybreak. He had his 
harness on — how long he had had it on we'll not in- 
quire, though he was far enough from home ; he was, 
then, sitting at that window, just about daybreak, when 



56 My Paris Note-Book. 

he noticed a man and a woman sticking little handbills 
on the walls of the Conservatoire. He did not say a 
word, but went into the street, and for more than two 
hours dogged the footsteps of the couple, who continued 
to stick bills wherever they could, and when there was 
no sergent-de-ville in sight. He dogged them till they 
got home. He did not watch them himself afterwards, 
but had them watched for more than a fortnight without 
telling the man whom he employed the reason of that 
surveillance. Then he bearded the couple in their own 
den ; he felt perfectly certain by that time that the whole 
of the so-called ' ' Committee of Resistance' ' consisted 
of Pr6aut and his wife. Fleury pretended that he and 
his relations had suffered at my hands, or, at any rate, 
at the hands of my ''creatures," and he has supplied 
Preaut with money ever since. Why did I leave Pr6aut 
unmolested ? For a very good reason. If I had him 
arrested and tried, he would get a twelvemonth's, at 
the most two years' imprisonment, and be a hero and a 
martyr for ever afterwards. At the elections following 
his release he would become a deputy. At his trial he 
would assume a defiant attitude, preserve a stubborn 
silence, not because he had anything of importance to 
reveal, but in order to impress the country with the idea 
of his magnanimity in not divulging the names of his 
fellow-conspirators, and so forth. Then there is an- 
other thing. This very Pr6aut serves me as a sword of 
Damocles, which I hold suspended over any and every 
important official of the Prefecture of PoHce, from the 
Prefect himself downward. The moment any of these 
show a tendency to become "skittish," I throw the 
failure of discovering the "Committee of Resistance" 
in his face. It has generally the effect of "shutting 
him up." There is a third consideration which makes 



My Paris Note-Book. 57 

me "lie low." Pr6aut would either preserve a stub- 
born silence, or else ''blab" out all he knows. In the 
latter case, it would not be difficult to identify Fleury, 
mind, one of the most devoted friends of the Emperor 
himself, and the Emperor would be charged with having 
taken the role of agent provocateur out of the hands of 
the police, to assume it himself No, things are better 
as they are, and the little money Preaut costs me is well 
spent' " 

Thus far my uncle's note, which, like all the others 
in my possession, I never saw until the death of both 
brothers. I may be permitted to add a short one of 
my own in . connection with this particular story. Fre- 
quently during our strolls in Paris, when I had reached 
years of discrimination, we came upon the handbills of 
the ''Committee of Resistance," and as frequently I 
used to remark upon the shortcomings of the police 
with regard to them. These remarks were invariably 
received by both my relatives with a silent smile. They 
never hinted that they were the custodians (in common 
with Fleury and the Emperor) of a secret in connection 
with those threatening scraps of print. Something else. 
Up to this day, when the Empire is stark dead, when 
pretty well everything concerning it has been told, when 
those who profess to have been instrumental in over- 
throwing it have received their rewards, no one has ever 
come forward as an erstwhile member of the * ' Commit- 
tee of Resistance," though even now it is alluded to at 
rare intervals by the ultra- Republican papers as "that 
powerful organisation which effectually kept in check the 
man of the 2nd December^ and prevented the spirits of 
the true friends of liberty from falling below the freezing- 
point." Can you refrain from laughter, friends? 



58 My Paris Note-Book. 



CHAPTER III. 

Some notes on Victor Emmanuel — His portrait in later years — 
The sculptor Marochetti's opinion of Victor Emmanuel's physi- 
cal appearance — A note of my younger grand-uncle — ^Victor 
Emmanuel's dislike of politics and finesse — A reception at the 
Tuileries — Victor Emmanuel and Napoleon III. — Victor Em- 
manuel as a raconteur. — Massimo d'Azeglio's stories of Victor 
Emmanuel— His estimate of the man and of the King— Victor 
Emmanuel's idea of accomplishing the unification of Italy — His 
dislike of etiquette and restraint — A hunting-story — Victor Em- 
manuel at La Mandria— Rosina Vercellana, afterwards Contessa 
di Mirafiori ; Victor Emmanuel's morganatic wife — Victor Em- 
manuel's appetite— The story of his hair-dye and "make-up" — 
Contessa Rosina and the King at home— Contessa Rosina wants 
to dye her hair also — Contessa Rosina's temper — Napoleon III. 
on morganatic wives. 

I HAVE by me some notes which, though not dated, 
were evidently written in the middle of the fifties, during 
(or perhaps after) the visit of Victor Emmanuel to the 
Emperor. They do not relate to political questions, 
albeit that the name of Massimo d'Azeglio crops up in 
them once or twice. It is well known that the son-in- 
law of Manzoni accompanied Victor Emmanuel during 
his voyage. Nor can I state positively whether any of 
the conversations recorded in these notes were held ex- 
clusively with the painter of ' ' Orlando Furioso. " I am 
under the impression, however, that the notes are the 
result of conversations with Napoleon III., but that 
some remarks of the painter-author and statesman in 
one to my younger grand-uncle led to these conversa- 
tions. My uncles, I fancy, had no idea that these notes 



My Paris Note-Book. 59 

would ever prove useful to their nephew, who, to say 
the least, gave no promise at that time of embracing 
either journalism or literature as a profession. They 
scribbled for their own amusement, just as I did at first, 
hence the still-chaotic state of these documents. 

I saw Victor Emmanuel three or four times during 
a short journey to Italy two years before the outbreak of 
the Franco-German War. His portraits and the ac- 
counts of those who had been very close to him had 
prepared me for the sight of a very ugly man, not to 
say a facial deformity. Well, I frankly confess that I 
did not think him ugly at all. I could name straight 
off a half-dozen eminent men whom I have known, who 
were distinctly uglier than he. The great drawback to 
his appearance was his corpulence and shortness of 
stature, and both these disappeared to a great extent 
when he was in uniform and on horseback. I never saw 
him in mufti or on foot, and that may explain my disa- 
greement with the general opinion, though I do not 
stand alone in that disagreement. When the great 
sculptor Marochetti had finished the statue of Victor 
Emmanuel's father, Charles Albert, he openly said that 
he would have preferred carving that of the son ; then 
added — *' He is certainly not handsome, our sovereign ; 
but with him as a model, I could have produced a strik- 
ing, original work, for there is something picturesque, 
nay, savage and barbaric about him which would lend 
itself to a grandiose conception. In marble or bronze 
he would look like a chief of the Huns, a leader of 
barbarians. Put him on horseback, and his appearance 
will favourably compare with that of any prince or sover- 
eign in Europe, not excepting the Hohenzollerns and 
the Romanoffs." 

My younger uncle had virtually arrived at the same 



6o My Paris Note-Book. 

conclusion several years before. ' ' I saw Victor Em- 
manuel riding by the side of the Emperor," he wrote in 
one of the notes referred to above, ' ' and plain as he may 
be in the conventional acceptation of the term, I could 
not help being struck by the face. I have never seen 
the like among the better classes, let alone among the 
members of the royal houses ; and yet he did not ap- 
pear a bit out of place amidst the brilliant cortege arpund 
him ; on the contrary, in spite of his short stature, he 
seemed to tower above them all, although there were 
some positive giants among them — Russian and Ger- 
man princes, I was told. The blue eyes, the fierce 
moustache, but, above all, that matchless, I might 
say phenomenal nose, impart an air of determination 
and obstinate daring which it is difficult to describe. 
I cannot say what the future may have in store 
for Victor Emmanuel and Italy ; but of one thing 
I feel certain — if that future has to be shaped by diplo- 
macy alone, and if that diplomacy has to be shaped by 
the son of Charles Albert, there will be no united Italy 
in his lifetime, for, on the face of it, he has not got an 
ounce oi finesse in him. Ferrari* told me yesterday 
that they have the greatest difficulty in making him dis- 
cuss a political question. The other night, however, 
d'AzegHo and some others of the King's suite were 
rubbing their hands with great glee. For nearly an 
hour the King was engaged in an apparently serious 
conversation with the Emperor ; both monarchs were 
evidently very pleased with one another, especially the 
Emperor, who, though he often smiles, rarely laughs. 
^ Joseph Ferrari was an Italian by birth, but spent the greater 
part of his time in France. He was, and is still considered, one 
of the greatest authorities on the history of " Revolutionary Italy," 
but his book best known in France is " Philosophes Salaries." He 
died in Rome in 1876. 



My Paris Note-Book, 6i 

He was, however, heard to laugh outright twice or three 
times during that hour. Of course, every one stood 
respectfully aside, so that not a word of the conversation 
was overheard ; nevertheless, the Italians were delighted, 
for they felt certain that Victor Emmanuel was gradually 
becoming alive to the necessity of being a diplomatist as 
well as a soldier and sovereign. While we were talking, 
Ferrari and I, strolling up and down m front of Tor- 
toni's, my brother came up ; he was beaming all over his 
face, and chuckling to himself, as is his habit when 
pleased. I had not seen him since the early morning ; 
it had been my turn to attend to our gratuitous clientele^ 
and I knew that he intended to go to the Tuileries to 
request a favour of the Emperor for one of our proteges. 
* Did the Emperor promise you the place ?' I asked him 
the moment he joined us. * Yes,' was the answer ; ' I 
might have asked for anything I liked, for I never saw 
the Emperor so pleased as he was this morning. The 
whole of the transaction was settled in about five minutes, 
but I remained for more than two hours, during which 
the Emperor told me about a dozen of the funniest, but 
at the same time spiciest garrison and hunting stories I 
have ever heard. They all come from Victor Emmanuel, 
who, it appears, entertained him with them for an hour 
or more the other night, at the grand reception at the 
Tuileries. ' But the best of it was,' said the Emperor, 
'that all the while his Majesty's aides-de-camp and 
sundry chamberlains stood at a distance looking as 
grave as owls, and taking it for granted that we were 
settling the map of Europe.' I looked at Ferrari, and 
Ferrari looked at me, but he walked away without 
saying a word." 

"Ferrari," says another note which Is obviously a 
sequel to the last, * * did not get over his disappointment 
e 6 



62 My Paris Note-Book. 

for at least forty-eight hours. I met him this morning 
in company with d* Azeglio, to whom he introduced me. 
Ferrari had told him my brother's story, and almost as 
a matter of course the conversation turned on the subject 
of Victor Emmanuel's dislike of all restraint and eti- 
quette. ' He feels cramped and cabined at Court, even 
at his own,' remarked d' Azeglio. * I do not mean to say 
that he despises the arts and refinements of our epoch, 
but he feels a kind of pity for them. If he could have 
his way, the question of a united Italy would be settled 
in a day, without the aid of diplomacy, or without the 
aid of armies for that matter. He would simply chal- 
lenge every sovereign whom he considers an obstacle to 
the realisation of that idea, to single combat, Francis 
Joseph included. But he would hold his hand at Pius, 
even if Pius were as young and vigorous as he, Victor 
Emmanuel, is. Some of us call this feeling of moral 
fear — for I need not tell you that physical fear has no 
place in his heart — superstition ; others call it religion. 
Whatever it be, it will be productive of curious results 
in the final attempts to create a united Italy. We may 
live to see this, and then you'll remember my words.* 
Such armies as the Holy Father, whether it be Pius or 
his successor, will be able to call to his aid will not avail 
In the least finally, even if they succeed in checking 
Victor Emmanuel's advance at first ; but I'll tell you 
what would stop him, provided he himself headed his 
own troops — the Pope himself, in full pontificals, the 
triple tiara on his head, the ring of St. Peter on his 
finger, and the cross in his outstretched hand. Prac- 
tically, I am a more fervent Catholic, though perhaps 
not a more fervent Liberal, than the King, and I doubt 
whether such an appearance would make me recoil one 
» Massimo d' Azeglio did not live to see this. He died in 1866. 



My Paris Note-Book. 63 

single step ; but it would have that effect upon Victor 
Emmanuel. In short, the King is, in my opinion, a 
phenomenon, for in spite of his illustrious origin, in 
spite of the advantages of education and surroundings, 
he is not only a stranger to all refinement, but it is 
throughout irksome to him. He does things for which 
it is almost logically impossible to account, and not out 
of mere affectation, but simply because his nature prompts 
him to do them. Here is one among many. A couple 
of years ago, during a shooting expedition round about 
the Col di Tende^ he and an intimate friend, having come 
considerably out of the way, were obliged to take shelter 
for the night in a poor peasant's hut, and what was worse, 
perhaps, in a poor peasant's hut the occupants of which as 
well as the hut were the reverse of clean or savoury. After 
their frugal supper, they gathered round the log fire, and 
whether it was the effect of the heat or something else, 
the friend, who was by no means squeamish, averted his 
face from their host, and persistently kept it averted 
until the king himself could not help noticing it. 
' What's the matter ?' he asked in a low voice. ' Noth- 
ing much,' was the answer in the same tone; 'only 
this man smells Hke a wild beast in his den.* * Is that 
all,' laughed the King ; ' so should we if we didn't wash 
for a week.' 'Never to that extent, your Majesty.' 
* That's what you think ? Well, I'll make you a bet on 
it ; I'll try.' The King was as good as his word ; or, 
at any rate, he conscientiously endeavoured to win his 
wager. But at the end of the fifth day his friend re- 
spectfully put his arm on his. ' Your Majesty has won 
his wager, not at the end of the week, but in two days 
less.' Victor Emmanuel burst out laughing ; neverthe- 
less, according to the loser of the wager, ' he did not 
hurry to part with the trophies of his victory.* 



64 My Paris Note-Book. 

* ' ' This is almost of a piece with what he does at La 
Mandria," continued d'AzegHo. 'Seeing that the 
walls with which he chose to enclose the demesne cost 
close upon a million of lire, I need not tell you that 
there was sufficient room to have built a comfortable 
dwelling-house away from the stables, cow-houses, and 
the rest, even if he wanted to indulge his dislike to 
staircases. He might have erected a dozen, nay a 
score, of one-storied houses. But, for no earthly reason 
whatever, he built a two-storied house, that is, a ground 
floor and a story atop of it, and lodged all his animals 
— a perfect menagerie, apart from the cows, horses, pigs, 
and poultry — on the ground floor, so that there is abso- 
lutely not a single living room into which the pungent 
smell from below does not penetrate. He maintains 
that it is the best soporific in the world. I pledge you 
my word that a soporific is the last thing he wants, as 
his officers sleeping in the apartment next to him know 
to their cost. Luckily, he is a very early riser, and 
does not mind in the least being left to tramp about the 
the farm by himself, or, for that matter, going out alone 
either in town or country. As for the place itself, part 
of it looks like a fourth or fifth rate zoological garden, 
and a badly-kept zoological garden, while the land, ex- 
cept in a few rare spots, is very poor. There are over 
5000 hectares of it. The interior, with the exception 
of one room, is simply a model of discomfort to any 
one with the most elementary notions of comfort. 
Faded curtains ; very few carpets, and these all thread- 
bare ; rickety furniture. Save the chairs and tables, 
the former of which are uncompromisingly hard, there 

' La Mandria, situated at about four miles from Turin, was Vic- 
tor Emmanuel's favourite residence, and was built by him for 
Rosina Vercellana, afterwards Contessa di Mirafiori. 



My Paris Note-Book, 65 

is not an article that would not be contemptuously re- 
jected by the poorest country gentleman, and that 
means something, seeing that in our outlying districts 
and provincial towns we are not at all fastidious in those 
matters. And when one comes to the exceptional room 
in the house, the Contessa Rosina's drawing-room, one 
is inclined to envy the poverty of the remainder. To 
find the counterpart of that room in Paris, you would 
have to go to one of the large cafes on the outer Boule- 
vards just after it has been ' redecorated ;' large masses 
of gilding and looking-glasses everywhere, and the fur- 
niture in keeping with the whole. As for the Contessa di 
Mirafiori herself — I am giving her her new title, though 
I am confident that the people will never call her any- 
thing but Rosina — she is a good creature, provided you 
know how to manage her, which at times is by no means 
an easy task, just because at the first blush it seems 
easy. She has neither the ambition nor the intellect of 
a Maintenon, a Pompadour, or even of a DuBarry. 
Her afiection for Victor Emmanuel does not even spring 
from the causes that fascinated La Valliere. Unlike La 
Valliere, she does not love the King, because he is, in 
her opinion, the most brilliant among a brilliant throng ; 
for, in truth, the King is not very brilliant, nor his 
throng ; she simply loves him as the strong, healthy 
peasant lass loves the robust, vigorous peasant lad ; she 
would have loved him if he had been no more than one 
of her father' s fellow-soldiers — instead of being the first 
in the land — for Vercellana was only a trooper in the 
King's Bodyguard — a company like the Emperor's 
Cent Gardes — though he is an officer now. Rosina is 
as proud of her bodily strength as is the King, and 
seldom misses an opportunity of showing it. Here is 
an instance of such an exhibition, which, let me add, 

6* 



66 My Paris Note-Book. 

was contrived for a double purpose, showing that Ro- 
sina, though not possessed of a high order of intellect, 
can be very crafty when it suits her. About a twelve- 
month ago a very intimate and sincere friend of Victor 
Emmanuel felt convinced that Rosina had done him a 
bad turn, and slightly poisoned the King's mind against 
him. He felt determined not to sit down tamely under 
such injustice — to go and see the King and ask for an 
explanation. The King was in villegiatura, and had 
just sat down to breakfast with Rosina when the visitor 
was announced. I ought to tell you that the latter is 
one of the most splendid, stalwart creatures you would 
meet anywhere ; he is reputed to be the handsomest and 
strongest man in Piedmont. The moment he entered 
the room Rosina knew what he had come for ; so with- 
out giving him time to say a word, she got up, appar- 
ently overjoyed to see him, and flung herself with all 
her might on his breast. Taken unawares, he, of 
course, staggered for a moment under this vigorous 
welcome ; thereupon Rosina, beaming with delight, 
turned round, saying — "You see, Victor, you thought 
your friend very strong ; well, I nearly threw him 
down." The King laughed, his friend could but follow 
suit, and the danger of an explanation was averted — at 
least for that day. 

"'In spite of his embonpoint y^ d'Azeglio went on, 
* the King is not only very strong, but likes to appear 
stronger than he is. He has an almost undisguised 
contempt for weaklings; "carpet-knights" he posi- 
tively abhors, and he frequently inveighs about their 
"pomatums and cosmetics." And yet, he is not above 
using "make-up" himself, though not "for the sake of 
looking pretty, " as he styles their attempts. Truly, no 
such wish influences him — quite the contrary. It is not 



My Paris Note-Book. 67 

generally known that originally the King's hair and 
moustache were fair. But on the morning of the battle 
of Novara he discovered that he did not look fierce 
enough. He would there and then have changed his 
** milksop's appearance," as he called it, but, as you 
may imagine, the materials to that effect were not at 
hand. Certain it Is, however, that a few days later not 
only his hair and moustache had become darker, but 
the face was considerably tanned and sprinkled with 
brown spots, the result of the unskilful application of 
the dye. Since then he has grown somewhat more 
deft ; but at the best of times he is not very clever at 
* * faking, ' ' and as he hates barbers or valets to come 
near him, he often presents a comical sight, especially 
when he has been away from Rosina for a week or so, 
for when he is with her she attends to the operation. I 
really believe that It is about the only artifice of which 
Victor Emmanuel has ever been guilty. But now comes 
the funnier part of the story. Rosina also took a fancy 
to dyeing her hair. One of the officers in attendance 
upon His Majesty told her of the women of Titian, and 
of the particular hue of their tresses, and went as far as 
to get the necessary chemicals for Rosina. When the 
King heard of this he flew Into a towering rage, and 
Rosina was obliged to leave her really beautiful hair 
alone. I feel almost certain that It was the only dis- 
agreement they ever had, for they are really very united 
and fond of one another, and In this instance the close 
bond springs not from a dissimilarity of tastes and dis- 
position, but from a similarity. The conventionalities 
and restraints of ' * good society' ' are as irksome to her 
as to him. From the story of her flinging herself upon 
the neck of the visitor, in order to avoid an explanation, 
you may gather that she is not devoid of tact of a cer- 



68 My Paris Note-Book. 

tain kind. She has the sense to know that she would 
be at a disadvantage among women of birth and educa- 
tion, whom, to her credit be it said, she never tries to 
ape in manners or speech, and so she avoids coming in 
contact with them. She is fond of the theatre, and 
when in Turin, goes very frequently ; but the higher 
form of the drama, and even the opera, does not appeal 
to her ; she likes a stirring melodrama or a roaring farce, 
by preference, with light, catchy tunes in it ; and though 
she always occupies a box, she never wears evening 
dress. In fact, to look at her, you might take her for a 
rich tradesman's wife with a taste for showy bonnets, 
loud colours, and glittering diamonds. It is in the ex- 
hibition of the latter that she is most often at fault ; for, 
even when in walking costume, she is absolutely smoth- 
ered in them. Like the majority of the women of the 
class whence she sprang, * ' she dresses to go out ;' ' at 
home, and especially at La Mandria, she is somewhat 
careless, though not untidy in her attire. Like the 
'* daughters of the people," she wears by preference 
the camisola, and a kirtle reaching to her ankles ; and 
it is rather curious to see the royal lover — the King of 
united Italy that is to be — and his favourite seated at 
breakfast. Her camisola is matched by his unbuttoned 
shirt. As often as not, there is not even a cloth on the 
table ; the salt lies in a heap by the King's plate ; he 
invariably empties the salt-cellar in that way, because it 
worries him to have to dip his spring onions, of which 
he eats a great quantity, and raw, into the salt-cellar. 
You look in vain for the bones on their plates ; if there 
be any of the former at all, they will be found on the 
floor, where the two or three dogs that are nearly always 
in the room have left them after having had their fill. 
Rosina is a fair trencher-woman, though, in comparison 



My Paris Note-Book. 69 

to Victor Emmanuel's, her appetite may be said to be 
delicate, for the latter' s is almost phenomenal. Unlike 
most Italians, he eats a great deal of meat, though he 
by no means despises vegetables. A little while ago he 
was on a shooting expedition in his favourite region 
about the Col di Tende, and, as usual, they halted at a 
farmer's house for supper. I am told that the hosts on 
such occasions are invariably left in ignorance of the 
high position of their guest, but I have my doubts 
about the statement. Neither the King's appearance 
nor his face are likely to remain unnoticed in a crowd, 
let alone in an unfrequented, or little-frequented spot. 
Be this as It may, the supper on that occasion consisted 
of an enormous dish of veal cutlets. Towards the end 
of the meal, the King, whose plate was absolutely 
empty, seeing that he had given all his bones to the 
dogs, asked his nearest neighbour to guess the number 
of cutlets he, the King, had eaten. The oihcer, out 
of deference, perhaps, to his royal companion, answered 
that, though he had noticed the King ' ' being very 
busy," he had paid no particular attention to the num- 
ber of cutlets that had disappeared. * ' I should say 
three," he suggested modestly. Victor Emmanuel 
shook his head, and repeated the question to every one 
around. But they were all evidently determined not to 
overstep the first estimate of the King's appetite, until a 
Savoyard gentleman, an Intimate friend of the sover- 
eign, and as outspoken as he, settled the matter by say- 
ing that he had seen Victor Emmanuel help himself nine 
times. 'That's quite right,' laughed the King; 'I've 
eaten nine cutlets.' These are the stories," concluded 
d' Azeglio, ' ' with which he entertains Rosina ; for Ro- 
sina has to be entertained, not to say conciliated, espe- 
cially after a week or a fortnight's absence. She is ab- 



70 My Paris Note-Book. 

solutely Incapable of fathoming the grandeur of the task 
in which Victor Emmanuel is engaged. Nay, more ; if 
ever she expresses an opinion on that task, which, truth 
to tell, is very seldom, it is to the effect that ' Victor 
would do better to look after his own, after what he's 
got,' as she puts it, and that the revenues of Piedmont 
are quite sufficient for his purpose and his wants, ' which, 
after all, are very small,' for she has no idea that the 
revenues of Piedmont are not the King's to do with just 
as he pleases. In reality, apart from her utter inability 
to understand these matters, she is very jealous of the 
King's every look and movement when away from her, 
and not without cause, though, whatever infidelities 
Victor Emmanuel may commit, he always returns to La 
Mandria with renewed zest. During one of those ab- 
sences lately, while he was presiding at a Council, there 
came a mounted messenger from La Mandria asking 
him to come back immediately. Of course, he could 
not leave like that, at a moment's notice, and he sent an 
answer in that sense. In a little over an hour the mes- 
senger returned with a second note, which this time he 
showed to his ministers, saying, ' Rosina wants to see 
me. I must go, for she threatens to fling her son out 
of the window if I don't go. I know her, and she would 
be as good as her word.' At present Rosina has only 
two children ; but she is not above twenty-three, and 
before the end there may be a dozen. It will not mat- 
ter much to the King ; on the contrary, I believe he 
would be very pleased, for he is exceedingly proud of 
these two, prouder, in fact, than of his legitimate off- 
spring, with whom he is always comparing them in 
point of health and strength, to the disadvantage of the 
latter, and somewhat unjustly, for I think the others are 
quite as vigorous and good-looking." 



My Paris Note-Book. 71 

So far that particular note of my uncle, to which I 
have not been able to find a sequel, relating directly to 
''^ la bella del Re^ I have, however, by me some per- 
sonal notes, resulting from conversations with Ferrari 
and others, and which, though not so amusing from an 
anecdotical point of view, are perhaps quite as interest- 
ing from a historical. If possible, I will give them at 
some future time. Meanwhile, it would appear that my 
uncle told the Emperor a few days afterwards about the 
scene on the Boulevards, and the disappointment of 
Ferrari, and incidentally repeated part of d'Azeglio's re- 
marks about Victor Emmanuel's attachment to Rosina 
Vercellana. The Emperor seemed very much inter- 
ested, nodded his head significantly several times, and 
finally gave his own personal and private opinion. ' ' Up 
till now," he said, ''there is not much harm done, and 
provided he does not contract a morganatic marriage 
with her, there will be no harm done. I need scarcely 
tell you that the greatest mistake Louis XIV. ever com- 
mitted was to marry Mme. de Maintenon, and though 
the Comtesse de Mirafiori has probably not a tithe of 
widow Scarron's brain or ambition, that kind of union is 
always a dangerous experiment. ' * 



72 My Paris Note-Book. 



CHAPTER IV. 

A chapter on the Comedie-Franjaise^My reasons for writing it — 
A country has the drama and theatrical institutions it deserves 
— Causerie, not history — My first glimpse of the late Augustine 
Brohan— Few of those whom I saw in my youth remain— Edmond 
Got— Got and Emile Augier— The genesis of Les Fourcham- 
^'flw//— Theatrical Paris in 1861 — Les Effrontes—'LoViis Veuillot 
and Emile Augier— Got's preparation for playing Bernard — Got's 
preparations for playing Rabbi David Sichel— Got and M. Isi- 
dore, the late Chief Rabbin of France— Proposed epitaph for 
Parade — Got's extensive reading— Got and Mounet-Sully — 
Mounet-Sully as an actor— "A ladder for M. Mounet-Sully"— 
Got and Raoul Rigault of the Commune — The mise en scene of 
the Comedie-Franfaise — A retrospective view — The late M. Emile 
Perrin and some other administrators of the Comedie-Franjaise 
— A curious official mistake — MM. Erckmann-Chatrian and 
their beginnings— Mr. Henry Irving and "The Bells" — Got in 
search of a piano — His interview with the superior of a convent 
— Nourrit, the celebrated tenor, and King Bomba — The supe- 
rior's eye for the main chance— Got's diplomacy — The brasserie 
V Esperance— Brasseries of former days — A mot of Augustine 
Brohan. 

In his * * HIstoire des Petlts Theatres de Paris depiiis 
leur Origine," Nicolas Brazier tells the following anec- 
dote. In 1 8 14, when the Allied Armies entered Paris, 
a Russian officer was heard to inquire anxiously for his 
nearest way to the Comedie-Fran9aise, and, the neces- 
sary information having been obtained, seen to drive 
straight off to the Rue de Richelieu, to secure his seats for 
that very evening. This story must be the apology for 
my having devoted so large a space in these notes to the 
Com6die-Fran9aise in particular, and theatrical doings 



My Paris Note-Book. 73 

in general ; for I fancy that the interest in those doings 
has increased rather than diminished, especially with 
educated English and American readers, since the begin- 
ning of the century, and in this instance I do not profess 
to write for any other class. But they must not expect 
long dissertations on the comparative merits of the 
French and English stages, nor would-be-profound criti- 
cisms. If I have any opinions at all on the subject, I 
intend to keep them rigorously to myself Montesquieu 
has said that every country has the government it 
deserves. I think that the same might be said with 
regard to a nation's dramatic literature and theatrical 
institutions ; besides, when a man who is no longer in 
the prime of Hfe, and who has never been addicted to 
frolics, has taken off his coat and hat, turned up his 
shirt-sleeves, and carried a band-box for an actress — 
even the greatest of her time — in order to be present at 
a dress rehearsal, from which the author of the piece was 
determined to exclude any and every journalist, that 
man has virtually abdicated all claim to the title of a 
serious historian of the drama. He is at best but an 
anecdote-monger, a chronicler of small talk, a gossiper. 
I am, after all, no more than that ; and if I should suc- 
ceed now and then in amusing others, it is because I 
have strictly fulfilled the essential condition becoming a 
causeur ; for many, many years I have listened a good 
deal. Auguste Vacquerie, Victor Hugo's most intimate 
friend and staunchest admirer, has laid it down that 
^^ savoirparler, n' est que s avoir par ler ; savoir qkvs^^^ 
c' est savoir parler et ecoutery For the first three or 
four years after my introduction to the green-room of 
the Com^die-Frangaise, which happened early in the 
sixties, I did not open my lips once a week, except to 
answer a question. To begin with, I was too young, 

7* 



74 My Paris Note-Book. 

and though my grand-uncles were by no means starched 
or conventional in their mode of bringing me up, they 
would have gently but firmly resented any attempt of 
mine to take part in the conversation, even when I had 
reached the age of twenty. Secondly, on the evening 
of my first visit to the green-room of the Comedie- 
Fran9aise, the late Augustine Brohan was engaged in a 
" trial of wit," to use the stereotyped expression, with 
three or four would-be young admirers, and she posi- 
tively frightened me out of my wits — I do not mean to 
perpetrate an atrocious pun, but am merely recording a 
sober fact. I judged the whole of her fellow actors and 
actresses by her. In after years, I learned to discrim- 
inate between real wit and flippant mechancete^ and 
fancied that I would not have been afraid to pit myself 
against her in the latter respect ; but for the moment 
I was stricken dumb in her presence. For at least a 
decade she had the effect of a wet blanket on me. 
When I heard Albert Chevalier sing, *' It isn't what he 
says; it's the nasty way he says it," I was irresistibly 
reminded of Augustine Brohan, to whom, in the course 
of these pages, I shall probably refer again. 

But few of those whom I saw there in my young days 
remain ; most of them are dead ; the rest have retired 
from the stage. The woman I was afraid of was laid to 
rest last year ; Bressant, whom I admired more than 
any actor of his time in his own parts ; Regnier and 
Samson, two geniuses in their own way, have gone over 
to the majority long ago ; Delaunay and Febvre, the 
latter a new-comer at the period of which I treat, have 
said farewell to the public to all intents and purposes ; 
Madame Madeleine Brohan no longer delights us with 
her finished impersonations ; Madame Judith, after she 
became Madame Bernard-Derosnes, took to her hus- 



My Paris Note-Book. 75 

band's profession, and gives the French some admirable 
translations of Miss Braddon's novels and others. For- 
tunately, among those who still bear an active part in 
upholding the prestige of the " House of Moliere" is 
Edmond Got — a host in himself, and one of the men of 
whom I have a most vivid recollection, both as an artist 
and as a man, for he is no less admirable in the latter 
than in the former capacity ; as such I may be permitted 
to dwell upon him at greater length than on any of the 
others. 

Lest this praise should seem exaggerated, I give an 
anecdote which I had from the late Emile Augier him- 
self, and I am the more inclined to do this, seeing that 
it supplies, as it were, the genesis of the last, and per- 
haps the most remarkable piece that came from the 
great play-wright's pen. I am alluding to Les Four- 
chambault, for the failure of which on the English stage, 
under the title of ' ' The Crisis, ' ' I have never been able 
to account. 

The author and the actor had been college chums, but 
college chums such as one rarely meets with nowadays, 
except in novels and plays. They climbed the ladder of 
fame together, and but for their mutual aid, the ascent 
might have been slower than it was. There is great doubt 
whether, clever as were Les Effrontes and Le Fils de 
Giboyer^ they would have withstood the ordeal of hostile 
criticism as successfully as they did, but for Got's abso- 
lutely electrical acting. I remember the premiere of Les 
Effrontes as well as if it had been yesterday, though 
exactly thirty-three years have elapsed as I write about 
it. They were rehearsing Tannhauser at the Opera in 
that month of January 1861. It was bitterly cold, large 
masses of ice were obstructing the navigation of the 
Seine ; the Second Empire was in all its glory ; the New 



76 My Paris Note-Book. 

Year's reception at the Tuileries had been most brilliant, 
for every one was congratulating every one else on the 
victories of the French armies in China ; Graziani, Gar- 
doni, and Mile. Marie Battu were drawing crowded 
houses at the Italian Opera ; the public were besieging 
the Vaudeville, at that time situated on the Place de la 
Bourse, to see Sardou's Femmes Fortes ; the Gymnase 
turned money away every night with another of Augier's 
pieces — that one written in collaboration with Jules San- 
deau ; but what I remember that particular January most 
by was by my New Year's present, which came directly 
from Napoleon III., though it was not handed to me 
personally. It was a set of newly-minted silver coins, 
with the laurel-wreathed head of the Emperor. I had 
them four days before the end of the year, and for the 
next six weeks people were vainly trying to get them. 

Napoleon III. was present at the first performance of 
Les Fffrontes, and stayed till the very end, frequently 
giving the signal for applause. Subsequently, he had 
to take up the cudgels for Augier against his detractors 
and assailants, the most violent of whom was Louis 
Veuillot, the clerical champion, who, as was his wont, 
indulged in personal vituperation, and called Augier's 
grandfather, Pigault Lebrun, "a gaol-bird." There- 
upon, Augier sent his seconds to Veuillot, who refused 
to fight on the ground of religious scruples. Augier 
took his revenge, and gave a striking portrait of the 
polemist in the sequel to Les Fffrontes, viz. , Le Fils de 
Giboyer. He called Veuillot ' ' a juggler before the 
Holy Ark," to which the "saintly man" replied that 
he was only the * ' * chucker-out' of the establishment, 
appointed specially to take by the scruff of the neck the 
rowdy jokers and ill-behaved dogs that might trouble 
the divine service." 



My Paris Note-Book. 77 

I repeat, clever as were these pieces, they might have 
met with a different fate but for the electrical acting of 
Got, for every now and then they drag. On the other 
hand, it is but fair to say that this was the grandest op- 
portunity Got had had until then, and he had been a 
societaire for over eleven years. French actors have 
before now been indebted for great chances to play- 
wrights, and it is generally the latter who have proved 
the more grateful. In the instances of Got and Augier, 
the gratitude was absolutely mutual, though, as both 
often said, ' ' The bonds of friendship could not very 
well be closer than they are. " "To arrive at a more 
intense feeHng for one another," added Augier, on 
the occasion of his telling me the story of Les Four- 
chambault, ''one of us would have to be changed into 
a woman." Then he went on. "I had produced 
nothing for several years, and my comrade, more tena- 
cious of my reputation than I was myself, regretted 
this, especially in view of the frequently recurring suc- 
cessful productions of Dumas and Sardou. Got was 
frequently urging me to write a new play, but, as a rule, 
I shook my head, until one evening during a conversa- 
tion in the green-room an idea struck me. ' Perhaps 
you are right,' I said of a sudden. 'It won't do, 
maybe, to get more rusty than I am already. I think 
I will write you a new part.' I never saw my old 
friend's countenance change so suddenly as at that 
moment. He looked positively distressed, and after a 
while he replied in a tone of protest — ' You misunder- 
stood me, that was not what I meant when I asked you 
to write a new play. I do not want you to write a new 
part for me ; my capabilities in that respect are pretty 
nigh exhausted. You and others have pretty well drawn 
everything I could represent. Besides, I have neither 

7* 



78 My Paris Note-Book. 

the time nor the inclination to study a new part. ' ' Don't 
you worry about that,' I answered, for, having once 
got hold of my idea, I clung to it ; 'don't you worry 
about that. There will be no need for you to study or 
to polish your part. I am merely going to photograph 
the real Got as I know him, a good sort, a good chum ; 
in short, a thorough brick.' 

'* That was the commencement ofLes Fourchambault, 
and all those who know my old friend agree that Ber- 
nard is only Got under another name, and that, given 
the circumstances. Got would have acted as did Bernard. 
Conscious, however, as was Got from the beginning of 
the similarity of character between himself and the ship- 
owner whom I had drawn, he was equally aware that the 
outer man could not be like him either in speech or in 
manners. He felt more worried about this than I did, 
for I knew that, come what might, he would get over 
the difficulty. I knew exactly what he would do, 
though he did not suspect me of divining his thoughts. 
It turned out exactly as I expected ; for three or four 
weeks running he was absent from Paris for a whole day 
and night, and no one seemed to know whither he had 
gone. Serious as they appear to be in the Rue de 
Richelieu, they are fond of a joke, and in this instance 
they relished the one they had concocted more than 
usually, for they thought they were speaking the truth 
when they said — ' Voila que Got se derange malntenant.' 
With his never-relaxing conscientiousness, he had simply 
put himself Into communication with an intimate ac- 
quaintance at Havre, taken a few trips to the seaport, 
and from half-a-dozen individuals constructed a type 
which I have no hesitation in proclaiming to be one of, 
if not the most perfect on the modern stage. ' ' 

Augler was right ; Bernard is one of the most won- 



My Paris Note-Book. 79 

derful creations of the modern stage, just because at the 
first blush ' * there is nothing in it. ' ' It was a far more diffi- 
cuh task to portray Bernard than to portray Rabbi David 
Sichel in H Ami Fritz ^ for in the latter case there were 
many salient points to get hold of ; there was the dress, 
the gait, the gesture, the diction, the accent, and above 
all, the facial play of the provincial Jewish minister, who, 
in spite of his oflicial position, does not occupy a very 
elevated plane in society. In that, as in the later study, 
Got adopted the same method. He went to M. Isidore, 
the late Grand Rabbin of France, and told him of his 
predicament ; and the latter invited the actor to supper 
one Friday night, when there were gathered around his 
hospitable board a dozen or more models to choose 
from. They were not hampered by the conventionalities 
of ''good society," which enjoins, even in France, the 
duty of not displaying one's feelings physiognomically, 
orally, or plastically, which votes picturesque attitudes 
*' bad form," decrees the adoption of a certain diapason 
irrespective of emotion, and bids the features to remain 
stolid whether in joy or sorrow. The comedian had 
only to single out one specimen, and to reproduce his 
peculiarities in every detail, which, in fact, he did. 
That's how Got "constructs," or ** composes," as the 
French say, his characters, plus his own brains, as Opie 
would have remarked. 

That such an artist should have no history apart from 
his profession is not unnatural. There are, however, 
two utterly different ways of looking at one's profession. 
One man considers it a watch-tower, the altitude of 
which gives him greater facilities for surveying his fel- 
low-creatures ; another considers it merely the top of a 
wall enclosing the whole of the world, beyond which 
there is nothing worthy of his attention. When that 



8o My Paris Note-Book. 

very clever actor Parade died a few years ago, some of 
his old comrades were discussing in the cafi next to the 
Vaudeville a suitable inscription for his gravestone. For 
the better guidance of the reader, I may inform him 
that I am alluding to the Cafe Am6ricain ; but I wish to 
add that with regard to the clientele of this famous 
house of entertainment, ' ' the evening and the morning 
are not one day." Having pointed this out, I proceed. 
We were, then, discussing a suitable epitaph, when one 
of the brothers Lionnet, both of whom play-goers of 
the last generation but one are sure to remember, re- 
marked — " Save an allusion to his eminence in his pro- 
fession, I fail to see what one could put on that grave- 
stone, except that 'he played baccarat and did not 
draw at five.' " The whole of Parade was painted in 
that one sentence. Not his greatest detractors — if he 
have any, which I doubt — would accuse Got of such 
onesidedness ; he and Febvre are men of extensive 
reading, and need not yield the palm in that respect to 
their famous predecessor at the Comldie, Regnier. 
Got's literary baggage is, however, very small ; it con- 
sists of a solitary operatic libretto, entitled Frangois 
Villon ; but those competent to judge have voted it a 
small masterpiece from a literary point of view. 

Apropos of this extensive reading, and the use Got 
makes of it in everyday life, the late M. Emile Perrin, 
of whom I shall have occasion to speak now and then 
in these pages, told me a rather amusing anecdote. 
The late Administrator-General was, though a clever 
man, by no means a sprightly one, especially in busi- 
ness hours; and he disliked "scenes." M. Mounet- 
Sully, who has considerably toned down within the last 
ten years, did not always have his temper under control, 
and there were many violent altercations at the meet- 



My Paris Note-Book. 8i 

ings of the Board of Management, of which the famous 
representative of the heroes of Shakespeare and Victor 
Hugo is a member. Animated by the best intentions, 
he had, Uke Lamartine, the misfortune to fancy himself 
a great authority on financial and economical questions, 
and, as such, objected frequently to M. Perrin's lavish 
expenditure in the way of scenery, adjuncts, and 
dresses. I am afraid I shall puzzle the reader by call- 
ing M. Mounet-SuUy an idealist and naturalist in one, 
so I hasten to explain. Hamlet, Othello, Orestes, 
Hippolyte, Hernani, Ruy-Blas and Rodrigue are to M. 
Mounet-Sully not the mere creations of the poet's 
fancy, but beings that have existed in the flesh. He 
can enter fully into the motives that swayed their 
actions, which, extravagant as they may seem to sober- 
minded people, are perfectly logical to him ; if pressed 
very hard, he would probably admit that they spoke as 
the poet makes them speak. He would fain endow the 
public with his own imagination ; and where he himself 
is concerned, he succeeds to a marvellous extent. So 
far so good. But they refuse to see with their mind's 
eyes the battlements of Elsinore, the sunlit island of 
Cyprus, the majestic cathedrals of Spain ; they want all 
these pictorially represented to them, and M. Mounet- 
Sully, who, his idealism notwithstanding, is naturalistic 
enough to rehearse for weeks in his stage clothes, so 
as to get used to them and destroy their unpractical, 
brand-new look, called the public names in consequence, 
and nearly always discussed M. Perrin's budget, where 
it related to such adjuncts, in violent terms. There was 
no means of stopping him until Got one day bethought 
himself of a masterly move. Some time before that he 
had told Mounet-Sully the well-known story of Ed- 
mund Kean lashing himself into a rage by shaking a 
/ 



82 My Paris Note-Book. 

ladder before entering upon the grand scene of The 
Merchant of Venice. ' ' Here you have got your real 
artist," exclaimed Mounet-Sully, carried away by 
admiration. A characteristic trait of Mounet-Sully' s 
was that, like Beethoven in some of his sympho- 
nies, he prefaced the storm by peaceful, gentle 
strains. Mounet-Sully nearly always began by dis- 
claiming all idea of making himself disagreeable ; the 
moment they heard such protestations, his fellow- com- 
mitteemen knew what to expect. On the occasion in 
question, Mounet-Sully was softly delivering his pream- 
ble, when in the middle of it Got held up his hand and 
asked permission of M. Perrin to ring the bell. "A 
ladder for M. Mounet-Sully," said Got to the attendant 
who answered the summons. Then turning to his com- 
rades, he explained — ' ' The ladder will facilitate the busi- 
ness, as in the case of Kean." The tragedian sat as if 
thunderstruck, but there was no scene during that meet- 
ing, and subsequently, whenever he showed signs of 
becoming restless, the order was repeated. There is no 
longer any necessity for doing so, for Mounet-Sully has 
become one of M. Claretie's most valuable coadjutors 
in budgetary questions, but the conversion has given 
rise to a delightful saying at the Com6die : ' ' Mounet 
s'agite et Got le mene." Anglice : " Mounet proposes 
and Got disposes." 

' ' After all, ' ' said Got one evening more than fifteen 
years ago, when he told us this story, * ' after all, Mou- 
net' s bark is worse than his bite (il offense plus qu'il ne 
punit), and I have tamed more formidable creatures, 
and not only more formidable, but more vicious." We 
knew^ that we were in for a good thing, and gathered 
round him, for Got is at all times reluctant to talk about 
himself, and when for the nonce he relaxes this reserve, 



My Paris Note-Book. 83 

one has to seize the opportunity. ''It's the only time 
I felt my head very insecure on my shoulders," the 
comedian went on. ' ' It was during the Commune, 
and we were going to London. There might and there 
might not have been a difficulty for the elder members 
of the Comedie, but," this with a jolly smile, "there 
was Delaunay" — Delaunay must have been consider- 
ably over fifty at the time — "and Laroche, and several 
other youngsters whom we wanted to take with us, and 
who, in virtue of their youth, came under the provisions 
of the new decree of incorporation into the battalions 
of the Commune, issued by the Central Committee. 
To have attempted to take our young comrades out of 
Paris with us without some kind of passport would have 
not only resulted in their arrest, but in the arrest of all 
of us, and, by common consent, I was selected, as the 
doyen of the Comedie, to beard the hyena in his lair, 
for, really and truly, it is no misnomer to apply the 
word to Raoul Rigault and his coadjutor Dacosta. So 
I made my way to the Prefecture, and, after a good deal 
of preliminary inquisition, was ushered into the presence 
of ' the delegate at the police. ' I have seen a great 
many villainous faces in my time. I rarely saw a more 
villainous, and if there was one drop of the milk of 
human kindness in Rigault' s disposition, he ought to 
have brought an action for libel against nature for 
having given him such a face. Not on account of its 
ughness, for I do not think it was very ugly, but on ac- 
count of its fiendish expression. His reception of me 
was exactly what I expected. He put up his eye-glass, 
and when I told him the nature of my business, looked 
me down from head to foot and began to grin. I con- 
sidered it best to grin too, and waited silently. * So 
you want to give the signal for deserting the Commune 



84 My Paris Note-Book. 

at the very moment when Versailles is making up its 
mind to attack us ?' he said, scowling at me as hard as 
he could scowl. ' These young men for whom you want 
passports no doubt consider play-acting a higher mission 
than shouldering a musket in defence of their country. 
Let me tell you that I would not give twopence for the 
whole of that crew.' Curiously enough," Got inter- 
rupted himself, ' ' Rigault at that moment reminded me 
of my former colonel, when I told him years ago of my 
intention to leave the service when my term had expired. 
'What,' he yelled, 'you want to leave the regiment to 
go a-play-acting, and at the very time you have got 
your first promotion. Very well ; go back to your paint 
and tinsel. If you had remained here you might have 
become a marechal des logis (quartermaster-sergeant) ; 
among that lot you'll never be anything at all.' But I 
bit my tongue and said nothing. I merely continued to 
grin, for I saw plainly enough that the slightest remark 
on my part would set him in a blaze. Seeing that I did 
not answer, he went on in the same strain, until at last 
I perceived a little opening to put a word in. ' What 
good would our remaining do to the Commune ? I do 
not suppose it wants Mascarilles or Scapins, ' I observed 
in a slightly bantering tone, though I pledge you my 
word that I felt by no means in a bantering mood. The 
public and the critics have often praised me for my act- 
ing ; if one of them had been able to see me on that 
day, they would have called me a Garrick or a Talma, 
I feel sure, for never before or since have I acted as I did 
then. I knew that one unguarded movement, one mis- 
placed word, would mean imprisonment, and I knew 
equally well what imprisonment meant, so I merely 
continued to grin until Rigault left off grinning and 
burst into laughter. ' You' re a d . . . good sort, ' he 



My Paris Note-Book.. 85 

roared ; ' you are . . . ' I followed suit Immediately. ' I 
am trying to be the best d . . . sort possible,' I roared 
in unison. ' Well, you shall have your permits,' he went 
on. ' For Laroche and the others ?' ' For citizens La- 
roche and the others ; but take care you do not make 
yourself a nuisance anymore.' 'In order to prevent 
my being a nuisance, you should give me the permits 
at once.' 'At once! at once!' he repeated; 'that 
kind of thing requires time.' 'Time! time!' I said, 
imitating him as well as possible ; ' it does not require 
much time. All it wants is some paper and a pen, 
' ' tout ce qu' 11 faut pour ecrire. " ' ' " Tout ce qu' 11 
faut pour ecrire," as that idiot of a Scribe said in his 
idiotic plays. ' ' As that idiot of a Scribe said In his 
idiotic plays,' I echoed. 'After all, that won't take 
long.' 'That's true; you are right. Dacosta, give 
me some paper. Here are your permits ; and now, be 
off as quickly as you can, and let me hear no more of 
you and your mummers.' " 

Subsequently, Got had to confess that there were 
people who, if not so dangerous as Raoul Rigault, were 
harder "to get over" than he. In order, however, to 
place this story In its suitable frame, I must be allowed 
to say a few words about the properties of the Comedie- 
Frangalse. I again beg to remind the reader that these 
pages are absolutely made up of random notes, pri- 
marily collected with the object to amuse, but not dis- 
daining to convey an Interesting bit of Information to 
the student of history, literature, and art, as well as to 
the mere lover of anecdote. 

For many years I was a constant visitor to the Biblio- 
theque Nationale — the Bibliotheque Imp6riale that was 
— and among my most favourite researches were those 
connected with the stage. The man who as a lad of 

8 



86 My Paris Note-Book. 

eleven was taken to see Rachel and every other theatri- 
cal and operatic celebrity, visiting the capital as well 
as the second most important town of Holland, who 
had sat spell-bound at the questionable talent of 
that curious negro actor Ira Aldridge when he came 
accompanied by a German company, he being the only 
one performing in English, the lad who a year or so 
before that had been a member of a "Children's 
Comedy Company," under the management of Mr. 
Edouard van Biene, the eldest brother of Mr. Auguste 
van Biene ; that lad was almost sure to preserve his 
taste for things theatrical in his later life. 

Among the extracts from these MSS. in the Bibho- 
theque Nationale, I have before me several, dealing 
with the question of scenery, dresses, and properties of 
the French stage in the seventeenth and eighteenth 
centuries. I am aware that in a book of this kind such 
notes are somewhat out of place. ''Anybody might 
have collected them," says the impatient reader. 
''True ; but no one did ;" consequently they are, as it 
were, voices from the past. Besides, in this instance 
they are not voluminous. 

As a rule— the comedies of Moliere were the excep- 
tion — the stage represented a palace, or a room — un 
palais a volont^, or une chambre a quatre partes, as the 
original has it. The first was used as a frame for heroic 
tragedy — no matter whether the scene was laid in 
Greece, Rome, or elsewhere ; the second when less ex- 
alted personages had to be shown ' ' in their habit as 
they lived." They might be Spaniards, as in Corneille's 
Cid, where the action of the whole of the five acts is 
unfolded in the said "room with four doors," or they 
might be Assyrians ; the local colour of their surround- 
ings was deemed of no importance : the play was the 



My Paris Note-Book. 87 

thing. And when at last the French comedians, stimu- 
lated by the example of the Opera, did make an attempt 
at a little more accuracy, they took care to emulate the 
thrift of which Hamlet speaks. In 1702 they order a 
new set of scenery for a tragedy entitled Montezume^ 
but with the express proviso that it shall be aussi peu 
Mexicain que possible (textual), so that it may be used 
for other tragedies. Moliere's Psyche was written for 
the express purpose of utilising a magnificent set repre- 
senting the ' ' lower regions, ' ' which originally had been 
painted for the Italian opera of Ercole Ajnante, per- 
formed before Cardinal Mazarin, thus showing that Mr. 
Vincent Crummies with his pump was an unconscious 
plagiarist, and that the late Mr. Wills was worse when 
he mutilated Holtei's Lorbeerbaum und Bettelstab in 
his "Man o' Airlie," lest a statue he had modelled 
should be lost to the admiration of the public. I agree 
with Moliere that a dramatist ' ' pent prendre son bien 
o^ il le trouve," but I object to the dramatist taking 
* * son mal la ou il ne le trouve pas. ' ' 

To return to my subject. The indifference to topo- 
graphical and chronological accuracy in the matter of 
scenery continued to prevail as late as the most flour- 
ishing period of Scribean comedy. The Com6die-Fran- 
gaise, thanks to the persistent efforts of the masters of 
the Romanticist School, was perhaps not so flagrantly 
ridiculous in that respect as the rest of the Paris theatres, 
in which, even late in the sixties, I have seen comedies 
and melodramas of sterling value enacted amidst sur- 
roundings and with adjuncts that would not have been 
tolerated at a London transpontine play-house at that 
period. And the difference between the Comedie-Fran- 
9aise and the rest — with the exception of the Gymnase 
under Montigny — was one of degree rather than of 



88 My Paris Note-Book. 

kind. With the advent of M. Arsene Houssaye, the 
first serious blow at the old-fashioned system of ' ' mak- 
ing things do" was aimed. Since then the Com6die- 
Frangaise has pursued a steadily progressive policy ; 
but I have an idea that in the matter of scenic reform, 
England has outstripped her nearest Continental neigh- 
bour — nay, the French will tell us now and then that 
we are ' ' overdoing the thing. ' ' I fancy the question 
might be solved by a conscientious examination of the 
respective values of ' ' realism' ' and ' ' impressionism. ' ' 

To the late M. Perrin belongs the credit of having 
manfully upheld the new reform inaugurated by M. 
Arsene Houssaye, and it is not disparaging M. Jules 
Claretie's artistic capabilities to say that the utmost he 
can do is to follow in his immediate predecessor's foot- 
steps. A little while ago I ventured to remark, that a 
nation has not only the government, but the dramatic 
literature and theatrical institutions she deserves. What- 
ever France may deserve in the way of government, 
she decidedly deserves her Comedie-Fran9aise, for Re- 
publicans and Legitimists, Imperialists, and Constitu- 
tional Monarchists alike, have for at least a half-century 
vied with one another in keeping up its prestige. Ne- 
potism and corruption may have been rife in every de- 
partment of the public service ; but no Minister of 
Public Instruction, or Director of Fine Arts under him, 
has ever attempted, for the last forty-five years at least, 
to select as Administrator- General of the Comedie- 
Fran^alse a man who had not already made his name 
in some other branch of art. By preference the minis- 
ter selected a man versed in the literature of his coun- 
try, for, if as the French say, ' ' literature in France 
may lead to any and every thing, even to a bed in the 
hospital, and to a pauper's grave;" it has also fre- 



My Paris Note-Book. 89 

quently led to the Administratorship of the Comedie- 
Fran9aise. During the time mentioned, there has been 
only one man at the head of affairs in the Rue de 
Richelieu who was not a litterateur by profession — 
namely, the late M. Emile Perrin. Seveste, the imme- 
diate predecessor of M. Arsene Houssaye, does not 
count. It is not libelling his memory to say that no 
minister would have appointed him. In spite of all his 
shortcomings, he was placed in his position by the 
Comedians themselves ; Samson and Regnier, the two 
most literary and cultured comedians of their time, de- 
liberately setting at defiance the laws that govern the 
Com6die-Fran9aise, in order to gratify their political 
passions. For this happened at the beginning of the 
Second Republic. Much may be pardoned to French- 
men under such circumstances. Good cometh out of 
evil, notwithstanding the Biblical warning to the con- 
trary, and we must not forget that the Comedie-Fran- 
9aise, as we see it to-day, is in reality the outcome 
of the scission of a company much more divided by 
political hatred than by professional jealousy. I, on 
the other hand, must not forget that I am not writing 
history. 

The appointment of the late M. Emile Perrin, then, 
was the only exception to the rule that had prevailed 
for many years, though that appointment would have 
never been made but for a mistake that happened long 
ago. After the Revolution of '48, Emile Perrin, who 
was a painter and a pupil of Gros and Delaroche, and 
Perrin' s brother, who knew a great deal about litera- 
ture, were warmly recommended to the then Minister 
of Public Instruction — Emile for a curatorship of one of 
the museums, his brother for the directorship of one of 
the subsidised theatres. Both were successful in their 

8* 



90 My Paris Note-Book. 

applications, but through a curious error of one of the 
clerks, the Christian names were changed In the official 
decrees appointing them, and Emile, the painter, be- 
came the director of the Op^ra-Comlque, while his 
brother, with very distinct literary tendencies, was sent 
as curator to the museum at Rouen. EmIle Perrin took 
a liking to his new occupation, and some years later 
simply * ' stepped across the way' ' from the Place Boiel- 
dleu to the Rue Le Pelletier, where, in spite of the 
glorious memory of Dr. Louis V6ron, who had mounted 
and staged the first grand opera Meyerbeer composed 
for the Parisians, he amazed the sons of these Parisians 
by his gorgeous production of the composer's last — 
r Africaine. At the beginning of the Third Republic, 
when Halanzier took the direction of the Academic 
Natlonale de Muslque, M. Thiers appointed Emile 
Perrin to the Administratorship of the Com6dIe-Fran- 
9alse. Now, It must not be inferred for a moment that 
Emile Perrin was a great painter, or that he would have 
become one, if. Instead of taking to theatrical man- 
aging, he had pursued his original career ; but I may 
safely say, that no great artist ever understood the 
blending of shades better than he, and his technical 
art — training made him a true coUaborateur of the 
scenic artists he employed, instead of a hindrance, as 
are many managers, who are not only absolutely Igno- 
rant of the laws of perspective, composition, &c., but 
unwilling to admit that ignorance. If the dead could 
speak, and the living would speak, the shades of Clark- 
son-Stanfield, David Roberts, and Beverley, and the 
voices of those who have so worthily succeeded them, 
would give us the explanation of the frequent but start- 
ling spectacle of a David looking in at Goliath's second- 
floor bedroom, without as much as standing on tiptoe. 



My Paris Note-Book. 91 

With men like Emile Perrin, and his immediate suc- 
cessor, with whom we may meet again, such things be- 
come impossible, and the stage becomes a banquet to 
the eye as well as to the intellect. 

Emile Perrin was too sensible to devote all his ener- 
gies to the attainment of scenic perfection only ; he was 
probably the ' ' greatest fidget, ' ' with regard to proper- 
ties, that ever ruled the destinies of the ' ' House of 
Moliere," and this "fidgetiness" brings me to Got's 
second encounter with adversaries * ' harder to concili- 
ate than Raoul Rigault" — I am quoting his own words. 

The absence of M. Coquelin aine during the late visit 
of the Comedie-Frangaise to London deprived us of the 
pleasure of seeing Erckmann-Chatrian's Rajitzau ; but 
those who have heard Mascagni's opera founded on the 
piece, will remember that the action of it is laid in 
Alsace during the late twenties, and that in the second 
act there is a piano in the room. The difficulty was to 
find the piano of the period, and Perrin would be satis- 
fied with nothing but the real thing, or a very close 
simulacrum. He listened most attentively to all the 
suggestions for having one manufactured, a grim smile 
playing on his lips. "There is but one objection to 
what you say," he remarked quietly, as was his wont ; 
' ' where will you get the model to copy from ? Consult 
any piano manufacturer who knows his business, and 
he will tell you that the difference between the instru- 
ment of to-day and that of sixty years ago" — Les 
i?<2;z/^<22^ was produced in March 1882 — "does not lie 
so much in the outside as in the inside. An old en- 
graving, therefore, would not advance you in the least. 
And if you did get a genuine model, would it not be 
more sensible to buy or borrow it, and so save unneces- 
sary trouble ?' ' 



92 My Paris Note-Book. 

There is one member of the Com6die-Fran9aise upon 
whom words of wisdom are never lost, Edmond Got. 
He forthwith began to consult some of the friends of 
his youth, giving them an exact description of what he 
wanted. One of these, a lady, remembered having 
learnt her scales on such an instrument, but at the 
death of her mother, when she had already set up 
housekeeping for herself, she had parted with it to a 
young musician, who since then had made a name, but 
who, alas, was in the sere and yellow leaf By dint of 
cudgelling his brain, the superannuated composer man- 
aged to recollect that he had disposed of the piano 
years ago to a convent. He offered to give Got a letter 
of introduction to the Lady Superior ; and provided 
with these credentials the comedian made his way to the 
Rue d'Enfert Rochereau. " The moment I had rung 
the bell, ' ' said Got, ' ' I felt Uke taking to my heels ; but 
while I was making up my mind, a key was turned in 
the door, and I found myself face to face with a Sister, 
who told me to wait in the courtyard while she took the 
letter to the Superior. In a few moments she returned. 
' Monsieur has come for the piano,' she remarked, taking 
stock of me as if I were some strange, outlandish ani- 
mal. ' If Monsieur will come along with me, the Supe- 
rior will show it to him.' On the threshold of the in- 
ner building, in fact, the Superior stood waiting for me, 
and she took me through a couple of seemingly end- 
less passages, with a great number of doors on each 
side — the doors of the nuns' cells, as I discovered after- 
wards — while another Sister came on behind, making a 
terrific din all the while with a large bell she carried. 
For the life of me I could not make out the meaning of 
that incessant clanging, until I suddenly remembered 
the wording of the musician's letter — 'I have the 



My Paris Note-Book. 93 

honour to present to you M. Got, of the Comedie- 
Frangaise, who is desirous of buying the old piano 
which I sold to the convent years ago, and of which he 
stands in the most urgent need.' To these 'simple 
souls ' I was an actor, and as such excommunicated by 
the Church, and every one who could, had to get out of 
my way. That's why the bell kept clanging, for, my 
eyes being opened, I immediately noticed what I may 
call the ' spasmodic ' closing of several doors as I went 
along. Instinctively I hung my head, not from shame, 
but to discover whether there might not be some faint 
odour of sulphur about me. At last we got to a small 
room with a grand piano in it, but not at all the instru- 
ment of M. Perrin's dreams. Its age was right enough, 
but there was no individuality about it. It might have 
done as a makeshift, and I asked the price. I was told 
five hundred francs. I shook my head, and remarked 
that a bric-a-brac dealer would have asked me about 
twenty francs. ' That may be, ' replied the Lady Supe- 
rior, 'but you would have to find it first, and your 
friend says that you stand in urgent need of it. 
Besides, we are virtually doing a wrong thing in dispos- 
ing of the instrument for so profane an entertainment as 
a theatrical performance.' 

* ' I ventured to point out to the worthy Superior that 
Erckmann-Chatrian's play aimed at inculcating a highly 
moral, nay, a divine lesson — that of forgiveness between 
brothers ; but her answer almost took my breath away, 
or would have done, if I had not had a precedent of it 
in my own recollection. ' There may be truth in what 
you say, ' remarked the Superior, ' but the Church ex- 
plicitly discountenances all attempts of the stage to 
usurp her functions, and preaching that lesson ' ' from 
behind the footlights, ' ' I think you call it, ' she added 



94 My Paris Note-Book. 

with a smile, ' is distinctly usurping the functions of the 
Church. ' 

* ' The reply instantly reminded me of an episode in 
the life of Nourrit, after he had voluntarily exiled him- 
self at Naples, not from jealousy but from ungrounded 
fear of Duprez. The story was told to me by my pro- 
fessor, Provost. I don't think it is generally known, so 
I give it you here. Provost had it from Auber or Doni- 
zetti himself, but I am not certain which. Nourrit 
signed an engagement with the celebrated impresario 
Barbaja, the same who brought out Rossini's Barbief 
de Seville. As a matter of course, though afraid of 
Duprez, Nourrit was anxious to try conclusions with his 
rival, and he chose for his debut Guillaume Tell^ seeing 
that Duprez had selected the same for his debut in 
Paris. 

*' But in those days King Bomba reigned at Naples. 
It is only fair, though, to the memory of this idiotic 
would-be tyrant, to say that Nourrit would have been 
looked upon by every European monarch of that time 
as a dangerous firebrand, for, during the Revolution of 
1830, he had made it a point of singing 'the Marseil- 
laise' in and out of season, in fact, he had, in the 
opinion of many competent judges, distinctly impaired 
his voice by so doing. No sooner, therefore, did the 
notice go forth of Nourrit' s proposed debut in Guil- 
laume Tell than the Censorship interfered. * A piece 
which is virtually the apotheosis of rebellion against the 
constituted authorities,' it said, 'Never, never, never.' 
After that Barbaja proposed Les Huguenots, and found 
that he had got from the frying-pan into the fire. ' A 
piece which is virtually an indictment of Catholicism ' 
said the Censorship ; ' preposterous ; not to be thought 
of for a moment.' 'What about La Juivef asked 



My Paris Note-Book. 95 

Barbaja, a few days later. ' We should be at all times 
reluctant to sanction a piece by a Jew,' was the reply. 
'We do not consider that Meyerbeer's selection of Les 
Huguenots was a mere matter of accident, but a piece 
by a Jewish composer which tends to the glorification 
of a Jewish hero ; impossible.' The impresario was 
pretty well at his wit's end, and, as happens usually 
when a man is in such a state of mind, the further he 
went, the worse he fared, for he was ill advised enough 
to offer La Muette de Portici (Masaniello), the prin- 
cipal act of which, as you all know, represents a revo- 
lution in Naples itself. The result of that suggestion 
may easily be guessed. In sheer despair, Barbaja sent 
for Donizetti, being determined to have a new opera to 
which no possible objection could be taken. The sub- 
ject of it was to be Polyeucte, and the libretto to follow 
as closely as possible Corneille's tragedy of the same 
name. Donizetti composed the music in a compara- 
tively short time. Nourrit was delighted with his part ; 
but no sooner had the title of the new work transpired 
than the Censorship interfered once more. Then Bar- 
baja prevailed on Nourrit to ask a special audience of 
the King, which was granted. The tenor deferentially 
points out to the sovereign that Polyeude represents 
the victory of faith. 'That's true enough,' repHes 
Bomba : ' Polyeucte is a saint ; the saints have their 
place in the calendar, their actions supply valuable texts 
from the pulpit ; but the stage should not encroach 
upon the Church's functions, and I will not give you 
leave to perform the work. ' 

" It was this answer," Got went on, " which recurred 
to me when I heard the Lady Superior's motive for 
asking such an utterly extravagant price for her old 
piano. Of course, I kept my thoughts to myself, and 



96 My Paris Note-Book. 

attempted to bargain ; but she proved as hard as a rock, 
for she had made up her mind that we had not the time 
to look elsewhere. Seeing which, I asked for twenty- 
four hours to consider the matter. It was well I did, for 
on my return to the solitary passages — still accompanied 
by the bell — I caught a glimpse, in an open room, of 
another instrument, very rickety and dusty, and emitting 
a plaintive, jingling sound. The moment I saw it, I knew 
that it was much more suitable to our purpose than the 
other. But I said little, merely remarking that I would 
like that one, to save the costly instrument at home, on 
which an adopted daughter of mine — you know that I 
have no adopted daughter — was learning her scales. 
Next day I returned and asked for another week to con- 
sider about the first instrument, and bought the second 
for fifty francs. I took particular care to have it carted 
to the theatre before I left the convent. It was, it ap- 
pears, the very thing that was wanted, though no one 
had the faintest idea of its being there. Perrin was de- 
lighted, and so was I ; but I'll undertake no more expe- 
ditions of that kind. I do not mind the bell, but I object 
to the greed of ' those simple souls.' " 

Twice within a comparatively short space have the 
names of Erckmann-Chatrian — for they were two — 
cropped up under my pen, and I fancy that the English 
reader will not be displeased to become better acquainted 
with two men to whom, if he, the reader, be a lover 
of the drama, and if that love be accompanied by the 
ambition of seeing the English stage become the equal 
of that of other countries, he owes a certain amount of 
gratitude. I am fully aware that Mr. Henry Irving had 
made his mark before the evening on which he startled 
London play-goers by his truly masterly impersonation 
of Mathias in The Bells, but I fancy I am justified in 



My Paris Note-Book. 97 

saying that but for the late Leopold Lewis' adaptation 
of Le Juif Polonais^ Mr. Irving' s great popularity might 
have been longer in coming. If proof of this were 
wanted, it would be found in Mr. Irving' s generous 
provision, for Lewis till the day of his death, though 
Lewis was little more than the translator of Erckmann- 
Chatrian's play ; but Mr. Irving considered — and justly 
— that the finger-post to the road of fame, however 
meagre its information, should not be left to fall into 
decay after the wayfarer had reached a magnificent goal. 
I trust I may be forgiven this indiscretion — if it be one 
— seeing that the fact is not absolutely a secret ; I only 
wanted to point out the English play-goer's indebtedness 
to the two Alsatian playwrights, but could scarcely do so 
without mentioning Mr. Irving' s handsome recognition 
of his small obligation to Lewis. Macaulay tells us that 
' * the dexterous Capuchins never choose to preach on 
the life and miracles of a saint until they have awakened 
the devotional feelings of their auditors by exhibiting 
some relic of him — a thread of his garment, a lock of 
his hair, or a drop of his blood. ' ' To cultured English- 
men, the most interesting fact in connection with Erck- 
mann-Chatrian is, that their play gave the greatest actor 
on the contemporary English stage his first real chance. 
This is the thread of their garment I wished to exhibit. 

It is more than thirty years ago that I first caught 
sight of the two novelists and dramatists whose stories, 
at any rate, have met with such a cordial reception in 
England. But they were far from famous then. 

On the day of the ex-King of Westphalia's funeral I 
happened to sprain my ankle, and was taken home by 
an old German gentleman who was a native of Cassel, 
and his grandson, who was a Parisian by birth. The 
elder's stories about the Court of King Jerome caused 
E ^ 9 



98 My Paris Note-Book. 

my grand-uncles to take a great fancy to him, and he 
and his grandson became frequent guests at our house. 
The grandfather, who was considerably over seventy, 
was hale, hearty, and active to a degree, a veiy enter- 
taining raconteur^ but, of course, scarcely fitted as a 
companion for a lad of my age. Young Korner, who 
was only a few years my senior, was somewhat more 
serious than his grandsire, but by no means what we 
would call a * ' prig, ' ' though exceedingly well read. He 
had spent several years in Germany, and spoke German 
as fluently as French, a great advantage from my uncle's 
point of view, seeing that they were anxious that I 
should do the same. They had not the courage, how- 
ever, to send me away for any length of time for that 
purpose, so young Korner seemed, therefore, a kind of 
godsend to them. Young Korner had brought a good 
deal of knowledge back with him from Germany, but 
also a decided taste for lager bier, and in those days 
lager bier, and especially good lager bier, was not to 
be had in Paris by merely putting one's money down 
for it. The stuff sold in the so-called brasseries was, 
even to my uneducated taste, as vile as the faro and 
lambiek dispensed in the Belgian esiaminets. Young 
Korner, who, without being a drunkard, was decidedly 
of the opinion of the German student with regard to his 
favourite beverage, "that one might have too much, 
but could never have enough of it," steadfastly refused 
to patronise any establishment where the genuine article 
was not on tap. And these establishments were few. 
One of the most amusing, if not the most famous, was 
the Brasserie Lang at the corner of the Rues de Ren- 
nes and Notre- Dame des Champs, but that was vir- 
tually in the Quartier Latin, and I had given my uncles 
my word that I would not go into the Quartier Latin 



My Paris Note-Book. 99 

either by myself or unaccompanied by some one much 
older than myself until I was twenty, and I meant to 
keep it. Korner, to his credit be it said, never tempted 
me to do so, albeit that it was a great sacrifice to him to 
forego the jolly company of Bohemians which foregath- 
ered at Lang's ; but as he felt unable to do without his 
beer, we went to '' L'Esperance," which exists up to 
the present day. Those curious in such matters will find 
it half-way up the Faubourg St. Denis, and almost op- 
posite the prison of St. Lazare ; and if they have never 
been in Germany, they will be repaid for their trouble, 
for it is a real bier brasserie^ as different from the new- 
fangled brasserie as was the old-fashioned coaching inn 
from the modern railway hotel. Save for the name, there 
was nothing French about the place, and it seemed to 
me very little changed when I saw it about eighteen 
months ago. The Parisians gave it, and give it still, a 
wide berth after their first or second visit, for the lan- 
guage spoken there was and is as unfamiliar to them as 
Greek, though I have no doubt that now and then a 
detective with a smattering of German looks in ' ' on 
spy-catching intent." In the time of which I am treat- 
ing, the French jeered good-naturedly at the language 
they did not understand ; at present it provokes their 
ire while still grating their nerves. Thirty years ago 
the habitues were nearly all Alsatians and Lorrainers, 
four-fifths employes of the Chemin de Fer de 1' Est hard 
by, and the stranger unfamiliar with the tongue that 
Goethe and Heine spoke was virtually left out in the 
cold as far as conversational entertainment went. To 
the right on entering the room, in an angle made by 
the counter, there was a table occupied throughout the 
year by two customers, one of whom was always ad- 
dressed by every one as ' ' Monsieur le Chef de Bureau.'* 

L..fC. \ -s 



loo My Paris Note-Book. 

Though not very tall, he looked lank ; he had a swarthy- 
face, dark brown hair, growing low upon an intelligent 
forehead, a pair of restless eyes looking down upon a 
hooked nose, and a sensual upper lip ornamented with 
a stubborn moustache, He looked, in fact, more like 
an Italian than like a German. His companion pre- 
sented a most startling contrast to him. He was a pot- 
bellied man, with a bald head, a florid complexion, and 
bright eyes glistening behind his gold spectacles, a thick 
moustache hiding his mouth like a curtain, and a double 
or triple and somewhat retreating chin. He also was an 
employe of the Chemin de Fer de I'Est, though I am 
unable to define his position, for the visitors simply ad- 
dressed him as M. Erckmann. The other was M. Cha- 
trian. They were both inveterate smokers, but M. Cha- 
trian indulged sometimes in a cigar ; M. Erckmann, as 
far as I could judge, never did. Some of their works 
had appeared then, but had not caused the slightest sen- 
sation. Of that I am certain. At that early period of 
my life I was a much more voracious reader than I am 
now. At my grand-uncles' home there foregathered a 
set of men, Alexandre Dumas the elder, Paul de Kock, 
and Joseph Mery, among the number, whose constant 
talk was of books, and especially of books by new 
authors who bade fair to make their mark. Well, un- 
til I was told during my first or second visit to * ' L' Es- 
p6rance" that the somewhat depressing looking couple 
in the angle by the counter were authors, I had not heard 
of them, and when after that I inquired of one of the 
principal booksellers in Paris with whom I was in con- 
stant communication, owing to his being the correspond- 
ent of another uncle of mine who was and is one of the 
two largest booksellers in Amsterdam, I was informed 
that Messrs. Erckmann-Chatrian's works scarcely com- 



My Paris Note-Book. ioi 

manded a sale. It did not prevent me from getting ' * Les 
Contes Fantastiques, " " Les Confessions d'un Joueur de 
Clarinette," and one or two others. Of course, a lad of 
eighteen or nineteen is not a very good judge of literary- 
merit, and perhaps the man has not grown into a better 
judge than was the lad, but I may confess that I liked 
the works then, and that I like them better now. I 
have my doubts whether the French who have made 
such a fuss about them since Alsace-Lorraine ceased to 
belong to France, like them better now than they liked 
them then, and, apropos of this, I will take leave to di- 
gress for a moment. 

At the trial of Madame Lafarge, the celebrated savant 
Raspail offered to extract as much arsenic from the legs 
of the judge's chair as his rival, Orfila, had extracted 
from the viscera of the dead Lafarge. Those who know 
can extract the arsenic of history from almost any event, 
however unimportant, and in this instance I am going to 
attempt the thing in connection with the novels and plays 
of MM. Erckmann-Chatrian, in order to show the real 
value of that affection of the French for the Alsatians 
and Lorrainers of which we have heard so much for the 
last twenty-three years. There is not the slightest in- 
tention on my part to cast the least reflection on the two 
authors. I consider most of their work exceedingly 
clever and showing an intense love of their country. 
But at the beginning of their career, at any rate, their 
primary object in writing these stories was to make 
money. I am not blaming them, I am merely stating a 
fact which I will prove more fully in the last chapter of 
this book, which chapter will probably be devoted exclu- 
sively to the development and transformations of the 
''^revanche idea." 

Only those who wear the shoe know where it pinches, 
19* 



I02 My Paris Note-Book. 

and even the principal employes of the railway com- 
panies during the Second Empire were not weltering in 
gold. Under the circumstances, MM. Erckmann-Cha- 
trian said to themselves — " George Sand earned a great 
deal of money with "La Petite Fadette," '' La Mare au 
Diable," ''Fran9oisle Champi," and other works, the 
principal characters of which are simply rustic, speaking 
a rustic language, reproduced and renovated with con- 
summate art. As artists we are, no doubt, inferior to 
Mme. Dudevant, but we are sufficiently artistic not to 
spoil the Alsatian and Lorraine patois, and, after all, 
there is no harm in attempting to show that there are 
other interesting peoples in France besides the Beauce- 
rons, the Morvandieux, and Salognots." 

I may point out that I did not make MM. Erckmann- 
Chatrian say — ''Alsatians and Lorrainers are just as 
good Frenchmen as the Beaucerons and Morvandieux." 
My reason for not doing this is that, before the war, the 
Alsatians, and to a certain extent the Lorrainers, repu- 
diated the idea of being Frenchmen at all. It was no 
uncommon thing to hear a Strasburger or Mulhauser 
say — "Je suis Alsacien, je ne suis pas Francois." 
Before the war, the signboards in the principal towns of 
Alsace, if not of Lorraine, were v/ritten both in French 
and German, and a goodly number did not display 
a single word of the former language. One frequently 
met natives who probably knew French, but who stead- 
fastly refused to answer your questions if you happened 
to address them in that tongue, and especially if they 
suspected your knowledge of German, just as in certain 
parts of Belgium up to this day the inhabitants refuse to 
answer you in French. I was at Strasburg for a few 
days in the latter end of '71, and, in spite of the mar- 
vellous organisation of the Germans, things looked a bit 



My Paris Note-Book. 103 

chaotic ; but what surprised me most was the ahnost 
entire disappearance of the German inscriptions on 
many of the signboards, and the seeming anxiety of 
the inhabitants to air their French. An old friend of 
my family, who has resided many years in the capital of 
Alsace, who is neither a Frenchman nor a German, gave 
me the clue to this sudden transformation in about a 
dozen words. * ' There is money in it, ' ' he said, ' ' and 
the Alsatian loves money above all things. You must 
ask me no further, for I cannot and dare not tell you." 
From other sources I discovered that he had told me 
the truth. The Alsatians were content to forget for the 
nonce, and for a consideration, that for years they had 
been made the laughing-stock of the French. This is 
by no means a mere assertion of mine. Though re- 
puted, and justly reputed, to be the best soldiers in the 
French army, they were the constant butt of the French 
on account of their inability to catch the right accent. 
As for the civilians, they were simply considered so many 
inferior beings. The Alsatian farmer is a very shrewd 
creature, hard-working, and saving, and never very free 
with his money, even on festive occasions. But he is 
not one whit worse than the Normandy peasantry, and 
if I had to ask a favour, I would prefer to apply to the 
former rather than to the latter, or to the bourgeois de 
Paris, and yet the French disliked the Alsatian for the 
very virtues they practise with such success. Not to 
mince matters, the French always looked upon the 
Alsatians as a conquered race. I feel certain, should 
this book command as many readers as the last, that this 
statement will be denied by self-appointed champions, 
either of the French themselves, or of Alsatians, just as 
many of my statements with regard to the late Emperor's 
illness have been denied ; yet, on the very day I pen 



I04 My Paris Note-Book. 

these words, the Paris Figaro (January 9, '94) contains 
an article by one of the greatest authorities on these 
matters, bearing out every word I said more than 
eighteen months ago. I am not alluding to duly ac- 
credited reviewers, but to irresponsible and very ama- 
teurish scribblers, who, on the strength of their official 
position, are sometimes allowed to rush into print without 
being required to produce proofs of what they state. ^ 

To return to MM. Erckmann-Chatrian, and their 
works, which, as I have said, fell flat for no other reason 
than because the French did not care a snap for the 
originals, let alone for their portraits. It was the story 
of Genxis and his model over again ; so flat, in fact, 
that a gentleman who joined the depressing couple now 
and then at * ' L' Esp6rance, ' ' and who, I discovered 
many years afterwards, was Hetzel the publisher, seemed 
quite to approve one night of Erckmann's suggestion 
that he (Erckmann) and his collaborateur should drown 
themselves. ' ' If you carried out your idea this very 
night," remarked the very practical man, "it might 
cause a sensation, and I should be sure of getting rid 
of the whole of the stock." This was said in my 
hearing. 

However, neither Erckmann nor Chatrian as much as 
attempted to make a hole in the water ; they put their 
heads together and wrote " Le Consent de 1813," which 
was their first success, not because it treated of Alsace, 
but because it dealt with the invasion. Since then, MM. 
Erckmann-Chatrian have written nothing else but " Le 
Consent," with variations, just as the Adelphi dramatists 
always write the same play and produce the same per- 
sonages in different guises and with different names. 
The reader need not take my word for it, let him peruse 
the works, one after another, and he will find that I 



My Paris Note-Book. 105 

have not misstated the case. The French novelist who 
did that kind of thing most successfully was Paul de 
Kock ; and I doubt whether Paul de Kock had more 
talent than either of the Alsatian authors, but he had 
more verve than both put together. Not long ago I 
was talking to an exceedingly well-read Frenchman on 
the subject. *' There is much truth in what you say,'* 
he remarked; "but, after all, your Dickens has done 
the same." I stopped him at once. " Have you read 
Dickens lately?" I asked. "Not very recently," was 
the answer. ' ' Then go and renew your acquaintance 
with him. There is no necessity to go through the 
whole of his works. Take ' Bleak House' first, and 
study Guppy ; then read 'Our Mutual Friend,' and 
study Mr. Venus. They are swayed by the same pas- 
sion, unrequited love, they belong to the same class ; 
study them carefully, and then tell me whether they are 
the same man, but under two different names and in 
different guises." My friend did as I told him, and 
confessed himself in the wrong. 

Whatever the merits and defects of MM. Erckmann- 
Chatrian' s works, one thing is very certain : their books 
would have never commanded the sale they did and do 
command, nor their plays been accepted at the Com6- 
die-Fran9aise, but for the fortuitous circumstances of 
the Franco- German war. Their first and best piece, 
from a dramatic point of view, viz. , Le Juif Polonais, 
was brought out at the Th^^tre de Cluny, one of the 
minor transpontine houses ; and L* Ami Fritz and Les 
Rantzau would have probably shared a similar fate, but 
for the loss of Alsace-Lorraine. That part of their his- 
tory belongs to an altogether different chapter, which 
may or may not be written in this book. One more 
story in connection with one of their pieces, and I have 



io6 My Paris Note-Book. 

done with them for the present. It will prove that 
Augustine Brohan's cleverness and spitefulness were 
frequently confounded by her admirers. At the pre- 
Tniere of L' Ami Fritz, when Mile. Reichemberg, who 
played Tuzel, exclaimed — "Oh, my poor fritters, they 
are spoilt !" some one remarked — "That's a cry from 
the heart." "No," protested Augustine ; " that's the 
cry of her mother." In order to appreciate this good- 
natured criticism, it should be known that Mile. Reich- 
emberg' s mother was the cordon bleu of the Brohan 
family. 



My Paris Note-Book. 107 



CHAPTER V. 

Personal recollections of two eminent men : Ernest Renan and 
Paul de Kock — My first glimpse of Renan— The physical man— 
Renan's way of teaching the philosophy and the poetry of life — 
His way of composing his speeches and his works — What life 
may have meant to Renan — Renan's fondness for children — His 
grief at his own plainness — His almost boundless admiration of 
beautiful women — The genesis of VAbbesse de Jouarre — An 
anecdote of his youth — Renan and Jules Simon — Renan as a 
mimic and actor — Renan's imitation of Egger the savant — His 
imitation of Labeche the play-wright — Renan and the Abbe De- 
lille — Renan's indifference to spiteful criticism — Paul de Kock — 
A Dutch lad's disappointment at Paul de Kock's appearance — 
The silence of the critics Vtfith regard to de Kock's works — Paul 
de Kock's method of work — His dress — His apartment on the 
Boulevard St. Martin— Pius IX.'s appreciation of Paul de Kock's 
works. 

One of my most pleasant recollections is that con- 
nected with Renan, whose Christian name, by-the-by, 
was Antistius, and not Ernest, and who, at the time of 
his death in '92, I had known for more than thirty 
years ; for I saw the author of ' * Vie de Jesus' ' for the 
first time four or five years before that work appeared. 
He was a visitor at my uncles' , to whom he had prob- 
ably been introduced by his father-in-law, Henri Schef- 
fer, a brother of the great Ary Scheffer, and, like the 
latter, a countryman of theirs. I remember Henri 
Scheffer distinctly, for he painted my uncles' portraits, 
which are preserved in the old home at Amsterdam ; 
but I only remember his more famous brother vaguely, 
having only seen him once. My uncles had been of 



io8 My Paris Note-Book. 

some assistance to Renan in translating for him extracts 
from the works of a Dutch critic (Kuehnen, perhaps), 
but even at that time Renan never talked "shop." If 
he had done so, it is more than probable that I should 
not have liked him as I did, or paid much attention to 
his conversation. But if he talked of ' ' higher things' ' 
at all, it was in such a way that they became intelligible 
to a lad of my age, and I fancy that this faculty of 
' ' talking' ' both poetry and philosophy without being 
aware of it, just as Moliere's M. Jourdain talked prose, 
constituted one of his great charms throughout his life. 
The physical man was not much to look at. Though 
not so corpulent as he became in later years, he was, to 
say the least, awkward in his movements; he had the 
habit, that clung to him to the end, of folding his fat, 
podgy hands on his abdomen, of stretching out one leg 
at full length and dreamily contemplating one foot. 

I was forcibly reminded of that charm of talking 
poetry and philosophy without being aware of it, and 
of the method of secret training by which he had ar- 
rived at it, some twelve years ago at the reception of 
M. Victor Cherbuliez at the Academie-Fran^aise. The 
author of '' L'Aventure de Ladislas Bolski," " Le 
Comte Kostia," Samuel Brohl et Cie., could certainly 
not complain of a want of appreciation on the part of 
that peculiar audience whose laughter scarcely ever rises 
above a mere titter, and whose emotion rarely betrays 
itself except by a slight cough. They had, with a due 
regard for the texture of their gloves, applauded his 
scholarly and even brilliant speech, but it was evidently 
looked upon by them in the light of a preface, a kind 
oilever de rideau to the business of the day — Renan' s 
reply. When the latter' s squat and somewhat ungainly 
figure slowly rose on its legs, there was a distinctly 



My Paris Note-Book. 109 

audible rustling of silks, a faint sound as of the gliding 
of feet ; the audience was settling itself more comfort- 
ably in order to listen more attentively. I have heard 
similar sounds at great premieres, or in the House of 
Commons, at the entree of some eminent actor or 
actress, or at the rising of some "master of debate ;" 
it is the unspoken grace before intellectual meat. But 
even the intellectual banquet is subject to certain rules : 
however independent a genius its dispenser be, he must 
not disturb the sequence. In this instance the delicate 
dishes were soon forthcoming. Reviewing the new 
member's university career and his philosophical studies, 
Renan stopped short for a moment, then went on : "A 
Berlin, Monsieur, vous avez vu le vieux Schelling, qui 
vous parlait de dout, excepte de philosophie. Oh ! 
Vhabille homme T^ The audience burst into loud 
laughter ; it was Renan' s reward for having afforded 
them a glimpse of his system of teaching philosophy. 
I have seen Renan rewarded still more generously for a 
lesson in the poetry of life, with tears this time — tears 
which glistened in the eyes of brave men and fair 
women. I believe it was at the reception of Pasteur, in 
the previous month of the same year (1882), but will 
not be certain. Touching on the modern scepticism so 
frequently accompanying scientific labours, Renan sud- 
denly and without the slightest warning exclaimed — 
" Quant aux sceptiques, ils sont peut-etre attendus apres 
leur mort, par la belle deception d'une vie future." 

It is doubtful whether the sentences I have quoted 
were in the manuscripts of his speeches, never, I should 
say, very carefully prepared, although I have heard it 
stated that they were. My assumption is not without 
foundation. But a few years ago I translated one of 
Renan' s books from the first proofs ; when the second 

10 



no My Paris Note-Book. 

came, the work had to be done all over again. * * He 
had taken up on the way," as one of his friends said. 
And in his speeches, I fancy, he was not unlike the 
smart stage-coach which starts with one or two passen- 
gers who intend going the whole of the journey. The 
vehicle, nevertheless, picks up travellers here, there, and 
everywhere, who are not mentioned in the way-bill, and 
which it sets down at intermediate points. Renan, in 
fact, was "a recruiting- sergeant of thought," if I may 
be permitted that expression. He rarely failed to per- 
ceive the possibilities of making robust soldiers for his 
cause out of apparently very unpromising material by 
dint of good feeding and judicious training. That prob- 
ably was the secret underlying the charm of his conver- 
sation, and by his conversation I do not necessarily 
mean his familiar talk at home with his friends, or his 
brilliant gossip at the dinner-table ; I include his official 
discourses, and, if it were possible to classify them as 
causeries, a good many of his meetings. Unlike Cole- 
ridge, he never preached, not even in his most solemn 
moments, though truth compels one to state that appar- 
ently these were few and far between. At the first blush, 
in fact, it was difficult to determine whether to Renan 
life meant "a great bundle of small things, or a small 
bundle of great things ;' ' but at the first blush only. 
The attentive listener soon became convinced that to 
Renan life meant a great bundle of great things — so 
great a bundle and so great the things as to demand the 
constant exertions and labours of generations upon gen- 
erations of intellectual workers to gather them into one 
congruous, harmonious, and sightly whole ; of genera- 
tions upon generations of workers who should refuse to be 
discouraged by the unfulfilled purposes of their predeces- 
sors, who should endeavour to hide the disappointment 



My Paris Note-Book. hi 

begotten from their abortive attempts from their succes- 
sors. * ' Every man worthy of the name, ' ' he said one day 
in my hearing, ' ' should be Hke that piper lad who, amidst 
the good and evil fortunes of a long battle under Freder- 
ick the Great, kept on piping from sunrise till sunset." 
For Renan was very fond of introducing children into 
his metaphors, and yet the sight and the mere mention 
of them had a curious effect upon him. He who was 
rarely serious with grown-up people was apt to become 
grave in the presence of little ones, the reverse in that 
respect of the late Emile Perrin of the Com^die-Fran- 
9aise, who rarely unbent with youngsters. I happened 
to have some business with Perrin one Sunday in the 
summer of the year before his death. I was accompa- 
nied by a little girl of six, the daughter of an English 
lady then residing in Paris. I did not care to leave her 
in the victoria by herself, and took her up with me. 
At the sight of the child an instantaneous change came 
over the whole man. Though the question between us 
could have been settled in a few minutes, it took me an 
hour to get an answer to it, the porter being meanwhile 
despatched for sweets. Perrin had neither eyes nor ears 
but for the child, who left loaded with two large picture- 
books, which would be worth a small fortune to any cos- 
tumier, and a bag of bonboyis^ * ' which, ' ' as her mother 
said afterwards, * ' no man in his senses would have 
dreamt of buying." The day being fine, we took a 
short drive, and on our way homeward I saw Renan 
strolling along the Quai Malaquais. I stopped the 
victoria, and got out to pay my respects to him. He 
noticed the little girl, and went up to her, but did not 
say a word, merely stroking her fair hair and kissing 
her on the cheek. His eyes became positively filled 
with tears. I could not help saying — " How is it, M. 



112 My Paris Note-Book. 

Renan, that you, who are so cheerful with every one, 
are so grave with children ?' ' for I had noticed the same 
thing on former occasions. For a moment or so he was 
silent, and then I told him of the little one's interview 
with Perrin, mainly, I confess, with the object of draw- 
ing him out. ' ' I can quite understand it, ' ' he said at 
last ; * ' to Perrin a pretty child is a picture ; to me a 
child, whether ugly or pretty, is a problem. This one 
is very beautiful, but she is as likely to become the 
mother of so many Calibans and Sycoraxes as of so 
many Apollos and Dianas. In the latter end of the 
nineteenth century the former possibility ought to have 
been already guarded against by law. We have socie- 
ties for the prevention of cruelty to animals, to women 
and children. Do not you think that it is cruel to chil- 
dren to endow them from their birth with hereditary 
ugliness ? I do, et Dieu sait, je parle en coitnaissance 
de cause. ' ' The latter words were spoken with an em- 
phasis difficult to produce. I feel personally certain, 
though I have no more direct evidence than the protest 
just quoted, that Renan' s ''want of good looks," to 
use the mildest term, was probably the only drawback to 
his thorough enjoyment of life. " As a young man," ' 
he says in his ''Souvenirs," "j'entrevoyaisquelabeaute 
est un don tellement superieur, que le talent, le genie, la 
vertu meme ne sont rien aupres d'elle, en sorte que la 
femme vraiment belle a le droit de tout dedaigner, puis- 
qu'elle assemble dans sa personne m^me, comme un vase 
myrrhin, tout ce que le genie esquisse peniblement en 
traits aflfaiblis, au moyen d'une fatiguante reflexion." 
Some would-be critics have construed these lines into 

^ I have purposely put the first words of the quotation in English, 
because it has been asserted several times that these lines were ad- 
dressed to an imaginary young man, which is not the case. 



My Paris Note-Book. 113 

a tacit licence for every beautiful woman to tread under 
foot the dictates of honour, virtue, and decency. I doubt 
whether Renan meant this ; nay, I feel almost convinced 
that, theoretically, he meant nothing like it. I feel 
equally convinced, though, that to a beautiful woman 
he would have forgiven much, for he, perhaps better 
than any one, felt that — 

" L'ame et le corps toujours s'en iront a deux, 
Tant que le monde ira, pas ^ pas, cote a cote ; 
Comme s'en vont les vers classiques et les boeufs, 
L'un disant : ' Tu fais mal !' et I'autre : * C'est ta faute.' " 

To understand how intensely he felt this, one must 
have seen him, as I have, seated at dinner between two 
handsome women, more or less decolletees ; " le chaste 
vieillard entre deux Suzanne," as one of the guests put 
it. Only those who have seen him thus will or can 
imagine the mental genesis of " I'Abbesse de Jouarre ;" 
for that romantic production is simply the despairing cry 
of another Faust for his vanished youth and manhood. 
And as in real life there is no Mephistopheles at hand to 
respond to the cry, and as men of Renan' s stamp remain 
worthy of themselves and of their art and calling, in 
spite of the temptations of the flesh and the craving of 
the heart and the senses for more passionate endear- 
ments than ' ' hallowed love' ' affords ; their imagination 
becomes unbridled, the sensuous worship of woman, 
the idolatrous love of love itself, pervades their every 
thought ; their study, which they leave less than ever, 
lest temptation should assail them on its threshold, 
finally reeks with the odor di femina, which henceforth 
exudes from the historical treatise as well as from the 
religious essay. They are no more conscious of this 
than was Beaumarchais' cherubin, or M. Cousin himself 
k 10* 



114 My Paris Note-Book. 

when he wrote his book on the Duchesse de Longue- 
ville. Was it Goethe who said that, ' ' When a great 
man has a dark corner in him, it is terribly dark?" 
Whosoever said it gave the key to the enigma of the 
many mesalliances — legaHsed or the reverse — contracted 
by men of genius. Renan's dark corner, like that of 
Michelet and others, especially Frenchmen, contained 
the radiant image of some physically perfect, albeit 
wholly imaginary woman, or perhaps of that playmate 
of his infancy, of that Noemi after whom he named his 
daughter, and who became more and more beautiful 
as she grew up, until at twenty-two she was a miracle 
of loveliness, '* of that Noemi, qui mourut vierge, qui 
mourut d' ^tre trop belle. ' ' Most of us remember the 
words of Don Gomez to Dona Sol in Hernani: — 

" On n'est pas maitre 
De soi-meme, amoureux comme je suis de toi. 

Derision, que cet amour boiteux, 
Qui nous remet au coeur tant d'ivresse et de flamme, 
Ait oublie le corps en rajeunissant Vdme T* 

Personally, we can hear Renan address the lines to' 
some beauteous creature of his own imagination, and 
the only error in his literary and philosophical career is 
explained to us. ** II desir vivo, e la speranza e morta," 
sighs Petrarch. 

More pleasant is it to turn to the Renan of our daily 
observation — to the Renan with the dark corner as yet 
undiscovered by his most intimate friends, with the dark 
corner as yet unsuspected by himself; to Renan the 
wizard, who, though cursed with nearly every physical 
disadvantage, cast an irresistible spell over every one 
with whom he came in contact ; to the Renan who flung 
pearls of philosophy into your wine as you sat opposite 



My Paris Note-Book. 115 

to him at table, who never said a harsh word, even about 
his most persistent detractors. "Je respecte tout le 
monde, meme Challamel-Lacour, comme je respecte ma 
goutte." 

He prided himself upon having never contradicted 
any one, except on one occasion, when he was a young 
man. He loved to tell this story, and no one, perhaps, 
was fonder of hearing it told than M. Jules Simon, the 
very victim of that only instance of contradiction on 
Renan's part. It happened long ago, when Jules 
Simon — whose real name is Suisse — was canvassing the 
Arrondissement of Lannion. The candidate for Par- 
hamentary honours held a meeting at the Mairie of Tre- 
guier, and among the audience there was a student of 
theology from the Petit Seminaire, who kept persistently 
* ' heckling' ' the speaker without, however, disconcerting 
him in the least. Unfortunately, the rege^it of the col- 
lege, who happened to be a Liberal, was present also. 
When the young seminaristey rather elated with his 
doings, entered the class-room after the meeting, his 
tutor stopped his further progress, and flung, as was 
the custom in those days, a Latin distich at his head — 
" 'Culpa trahit culpam, post culpam culpa revertit, Et 
post tot culpas cogeris ire foras !' " he exclaimed ; then 
added, ** You'll copy the original text and translation 
twenty times before you go to bed to-night." "And 
the answer, too, if you wish," said the young fellow, 
without a moment's hesitation. *' Pinta trahit pintam, 
post pintam pinta revertit, Et post tot pintas nascitur 
ebrietas." Jules Simon lost his election, and Renan 
won his pensum. When the latter had become famous, 
and the former one degree less than famous, they hap- 
pened to be at the same time at Tr6guier. Simon paid 
a visit to the Seminary, and came upon Renan in the 



ii6 My Paris Note-Book. 

very same class-room where he had sat as a lad. Simon 
kept bending over the forms, evidently examining them 
carefully. 

' ' What are you looking for ?' ' asked Renan. 

' ' I am looking for your name on the forms, ' ' was the 
answer. ^ 

'*Mon cher ami," remarked Renan, **je n'ai jamais 
6gratign6 un banc, ni un camarade. Qo. n' entre pas dans 
mons temperament, de donner des coups de canif." 

But between * ' slashing' ' a friend and innocently 
mimicking his peculiarities of speech, manner, and gait, 
there was a wide difference in Renan' s opinion. These 
imitations were never premeditated, they were the ac- 
companiment to some story, told in such a way as to 
breed the connection that Heine was right when he 
said, ' ' All Frenchmen are actors ; the worst are often 
on the stage." I have frequently heard and seen 
Fusier, who, with all due deference to MM. Coquelin 
ai7te and cadet, towers a head and shoulders above both 
as an ''entertainer," or to use the French expression, 
''^ diseury I have never met with his equal except 
once, and that was when I saw Mr. Corney Grain. 
Well, in spite of the structural and facial disabilities 
under which he laboured, Renan, as a raconteur^ was 
as good as either of these. I have already said that 
those Imitations were never premeditated, but the ac- 
companiment to some story. To most Englishmen 
and Americans, even to travelled Englishmen and 
Americans, the name of Emile Egger conveys little or 
nothing, though Egger was a great man in his way. 
To get at a true estimate of his value, we should have 
to go to Oxford and consult Professor Max Miiller ; for 
my present purpose it is sufficient to state that Emile 
Egger was one of Renan' s dearest friends, an eminent 



My Paris Note-Book. 117 

philologist, and the man to whom Renan by preference 
entrusted his MSS. to read before he confided them to 
the printer. Utterly unlike Renan physically, intellectu- 
ally, and morally, the only trait these two had in com- 
mon was their unvarying kindness to the poor and 
lowly, their readiness to make smooth the thorny path 
of the serious student. Egger, in spite of his great 
abilities, was very retiring, almost shy, consequently 
not fond of society, moreover, very simple in his do- 
mestic arrangements. In the heyday of the Second 
Empire he received an invitation to Compiegne. I 
have given elsewhere a lengthy sketch of the festivities 
at Compiegne, so I need not repeat it here. His 
friends had. told the savant that, though everything was 
most lavishly provided, and the attendance perfect, it 
was the custom to take a servant of one's own, as much 
for the sake of appearance as to lighten the burden of 
the Imperia.] perso7zne I, which was often driven out of 
their wits by the plethora of guests. We may be cer- 
tain that the second reason had more weight with the 
simple-minded gentleman than the first, and finally in- 
duced him to engage a temporary man-servant on the 
recommendation of one of his neighbours, for it need 
scarcely be said that he had none of his own. Egger 
was poor all his life, and but for the windfall of a thou- 
sand pounds, left to him by a fellow-student whom he 
nursed for many years and till the day of his (the 
friend's) death, he would not have been able to marry ; 
though he was in utter ignorance of his friend's re- 
sources, being under the impression that his parents 
made him a small allowance. 

On the day appointed, a magnificent young fellow, 
with jet black hair and eyes like carbuncles, presents 
himself, and Egger, struck by his appearance, engages 



ii8 My Paris Note-Book. 

him there and then, congratulating himself on having 
found so prepossessing a personal attendant, ''who," 
he says mentally, "will compare favourably with any 
one of the domestic staff at Court." But as there is 
no accommodation in the servants' modest home for 
the new-comer, it is arranged that he shall enter upon 
his duties the next day only, the day on which Egger is 
to start for Compiegne. 

Behold the two fairly settled in the apartment allotted 
to them in the Imperial chateau, Egger somewhat un- 
comfortable in his new character of a master who has 
not the slightest use for a valet, and, moreover, wonder- 
ing uneasily at the accent of the latter, which, in the 
hurry of the previous day's interview, he had mistaken 
for that of a Provencal. At last, unable to hold out 
any longer, he begins questioning the young fellow. 

' ' Tell me, my lad, ' ' he says benevolently, ' ' are you 
a Frenchman ?' ' 

' ' No, monsieur, I am not a Frenchman, ' ' is the answer. 

' ' What nationality are you ?' ' 

'' I am an Italian, monsieur," 

'' I forgot to mention," said Renan, when he told us, 
or rather enacted the story— for it really amounted to 
that — " I forgot to mention that this happened in 1858, 
consequently but a few months after the attempt on the 
Emperor's life in the Rue Le Pelletier, so you may 
imagine Egger' s terror," and forthwith, and without 
the least effort, we had an imitation of the great Greek 
scholar, which those who knew him well voted perfect. 
** ' Great God !' says Egger to himself,' " — I am quoting 
Renan textually—" ' Great God, what have I done? 
Here am I, a member of the Institute, a member of the 
Legion of Honour, a professor at one of the State col- 
leges, an honoured guest of the sovereign— here am I 



My Paris Note-Book. 119 

introducing an Italian into the palace, an Italian against 
whose appearance not a word can be said, but who may 
be, for all I know, a second Orsini or Pianori, who en- 
tered my service in order to carry out his fell designs 
upon Napoleon.' " 

The upshot of all this was that Egger did not get a 
wink of sleep during the whole of his stay at the chateau, 
lest his valet should murder the Emperor. The savant 
lay trembling in his bed, listening for every sound, and 
every now and then rising to take a peep along the 
corridors, going as far as the Italian's room in his dress- 
ing-room, opening the door softly, taking a peep at him 
by the light of the flickering candle, and then softly 
stealing to his bed, but not to rest. 

No words of mine could, however, convey the scene 
as enacted by Renan. It was a treat for which his 
friends clamoured on all occasions, and which was rarely 
refused, for I honestly believe that Renan was prouder 
of his mimic talents than of all his philological attain- 
ments put together. One evening he got more than 
usually excited over the scene, and in his excitement 
snatched the cruet frame from the table in order to rep- 
resent Egger carrying a dark lantern, though there was 
not the slightest evidence that Egger had such an article 
at hand. 

It was upon the whole a great performance — I cannot 
give it another name — and according to those who 
knew Egger better than I did — I only saw him twice in 
my life — a masterly reproduction of all his peculiarities 
of diction, of accent, of gait, &c. , &c. And, I repeat, 
there was a wonderful difference physically between 
Egger and Renan, though not so great as the contrast 
between Renan and Labiche, whom I saw him imitate 
on another occasion. The play-wright was tall, with a 



120 My Paris Note-Book. 

face the skin of which seemed drawn so tight over the 
bones as to make people wonder at his being able to 
shut his eyes and mouth at the same time ; the philoso- 
pher was short, squat, with a gait which reminded one 
unconsciously of the hippopotamus, or, to put it mildly, 
of a bear, and a face the angles of which were concealed 
beneath layers of flesh, while the nose looked, not like an 
integral part of the whole, but like an excrescence on it ; 
"a contemptuously lavish afterthought of nature," as 
some one said. And yet I have heard Renan imitate 
the author of Le Chapeau de Paille d' Italie (A Wed- 
ding-March) and Les Petits Oiseaux (a Pair of Specta- 
cles) to such perfection that with one's eyes shut one 
could not have told the one from the other. Labiche, 
as is well known, was elected to the chair left vacant at 
the Acad6mie by Silvestre de Sacy, also a friend of 
Renan. The eulogy of such a predecessor, of a writer 
of whom Thiers said, ''C'est lui qui 6crit le mieux," 
must have been a difficult task to a man who, as a boy, 
was dismissed from the Lycee Bourbon as "hopelessly 
incapable ; ' ' who, by his own confession, was not une 
bHe a concours (literally " a prize-competing animal") ; 
whose master, in order to keep him quiet, repeated 
constantly — '' Monsieur Labiche, ne faites pas de bruit, 
et Ton ne vous demandera ni devoirs, ni legons." 

Under the circumstances the great farce writer hit 
upon the idea of consulting Renan, whose admiration 
for Silvestre de Sacy was well known. The interview 
must have been satisfactory to both parties, for Renan 
averred afterwards that he had never enjoyed anything 
so much in his life. But he was commendably silent 
with regard to the details, and would not admit that he 
had given Labiche any active aid in the composition of 
his speech. Subsequent events, however, nay, his own 



My Paris Note-Book. 121 

story, went far to prove that such aid must have been 
given, seeing that the discourse was voted a master- 
piece by every one. If, however, reticent with regard 
to the first interview with Labiche, he was perfectly 
wiUing to communicate the particulars of the second, at 
which the Academician elect read his speech, not only 
to the suspected author of it, but to three more future 
fellow-members, namely, the Due d'Aumale, M. Gaston 
Boissier, and M. Henri Martin, the historian. *' I shall 
never forget the faces of the Due and Martin as they 
watched Labiche glibly delivering his sentences," said 
Renan one evening, and forthwith we heard the encour- 
aging "Tres bien" of the author of "I'Histoire du 
Grand Cond6, ' ' and the more reserved ' * Pas mal ' ' of 
Martin, reproduced in a way that set the whole room in 
a roar. When the laughter had subsided, Renan went 
on : * ' As for Labiche himself, he kept winking one eye, 
as was his wont, at me, until I felt very uncomfortable, 
and at last I took the bull by the horns. ' Monsieur 
Labiche,' I said, * all this is positively admirable ; I was 
not aware that you had devoted so much time to the 
study of the higher sciences.' Thereupon there was 
another wink, more significant than all the preceding ; 
and he repHed, 'Monsieur, le soleil n'est jamais pale ; 
quelquefois seulement il est voil6.' They were the very 
words I had used once in an address to the boys at 
Louis-le-Grand. Then he added, 'You remember 
what that old savant Babinet said : ^ *' It happens now 
and then that you go to one of the eating-houses at the 
barriere and you ask for a rabbit. You feel positive 
that they are going to give you cat, don't you? In 
fact, you reckon upon their giving you cat. Well, 

^ Jacques Babinet, who did more for the popularising of science 
in France than any one before him 

F 11 



122 My Paris Note-Book. 

they don't give you cat at all; they give you rat." 
The Academie is asking me for rabbit in the matter of 
this speech, and the members are positive, thoroughly 
convinced that I am going to give them cat. Weil, I 
am not going to give them cat at all ; I am going to 
give them hare. As I have had the honour of telling 
you already, the sun himself is never dim, only now and 
then there is a veil across.' And Labiche triumphantly 
put his MS. in his pocket, while for several minutes we 
sat staring at him, amazed at his aplomb, then we simply 
choked with laughter. ' ' ' 

It was not so much the story as the manner of telling 
it which fascinated the listener, and yet, as a rule, 
Renan made a very sparing use of gesture. His 
favourite attitude was one of absolute repose : his two 
podgy hands crossed on the abdomen, his left leg 
stretched at full length, and showing between the bottom 
of the trousers and the very capacious shoes the strip 
of black stocking which he never seemed tired of con- 
templating. Black stockings are rarely worn by French- 
men so little addicted to fashion as was Renan, though, 
as a matter of course, the Catholic clergy never wear 
any other, which caused Renan to remark every now 
and then, *'C'est tout ce qui reste du pretre." For 
once, in a way, he was utterly mistaken ; for he had 
remained the typical priest from head to foot, in every- 
thing but the dress, much more, in fact, than the priest 
who died nearly eighty years before him in the self-same 
room where he breathed his last. I am referring to the 
Abbe Delille, who lived for many years in London, and 
about whom we ought to know a good deal, about 
whom we scarcely know anything. Jacques Delille did 

» I have translated Labiche's words for the better convenience 
of the reader. 



My Paris Note-Book. 123 

not fling his cassock away as did Renan ; he put it on a 
shelf until the revolutionary hurricane had subsided. 
Meanwhile he selected for himself a ^ ' niece, ' ' who was 
so disagreeable and ignorant as to draw forth Rivarol's 
remark — " Puisque vous avez choisi votre niece, vous 
auriez pu la mieux choisir." The ''niece" did not 
think the "alleged blood relationship" a sufficiently 
strong guarantee against the possibility of being ousted 
by another ' * niece, ' ' and made Delille marry her. Then 
she donned the breeches, or, what was tantamount to it, 
prevented her husband wearing them until he had com- 
pleted his daily task of thirty lines of verse, paid for by 
Michaud, the Paris publisher, at the rate of six francs a 
line, plus thirty sous for the lady. Then, and then only, 
was the garment restored to the hen-pecked Abbe. 
The lady, furthermore, had a habit of flinging books at 
her husband's head, generally quartos. Delille' s pro- 
test against that playful kind of endearment was only a 
qualified one. '' Madame," he said one morning in the 
presence of Chateaubriand orMalouet, " ne pourriez-vous 
vous contenter d'un in-octavo ?" Well, I feel convinced 
that at the appearance of ' ' Vie de Jesus' ' there were 
thousands of Frenchmen, laymen as well as priests, and 
that there are thousands of Frenchmen now, who would 
have tolerated, and would still tolerate, a Delille who 
never questioned the truth of the Christian dogma, a 
Delille with the niece, but who would not tolerate a 
Renan with a wife. ' ' Le malheur de M. Renan est 
d' avoir conserve du pretre la chastet6 et non la foi. 
J'eusse prefere le contraire pour lui" — thus wrote an in- 
fluential French journalist a few years ago in the most 
widely-read French newspaper. I do not know whether 
Renan saw the article, but a couple of weeks later that 
journalist had his answer, though indirectly. Speaking 



124 My Paris Note-Book. 

of the criticisms in general which a new book had 
brought forth, Renan said, "Je ne m'etonne plus de 
rien, en fait d'ex6gese, Gavroche a la pretention d'en 
savoir plus que moi, ' ' 

And when Renan had uttered the word " Gavroche," 
he had practically exhausted his vocabulary of contempt. 
For, unlike Victor Hugo, he refused to look upon Gav- 
roche as a hero ; he had seen him at work in '48, on 
the 2nd, 3rd, and 4th December 1851, and on several 
minor occasions. His " Caliban," which is worth study- 
ing as well as reading, is only another kind of Gavroche. 
If Renan had lived long enough, we might have had 
' ' The Book of Gavroches, " as we have ' ' The Book 
of Snobs," for the Pressenses and Peyrats, and others 
whom it would take too long to name here, were just 
as many Gavroches to him as If their nether garments 
had not held together, and their chief claim to fame had 
consisted of a performance on a barricade with a rusty 
rifle. * ' II y a des gens qui font de Dieu leur raison 
sociale, comme 11 y a des courtiers marrons, qui cher- 
chent dans ' Hozier, ' des noms titres pour les niettre a 
leurs en-t^te. Avec ces gens la on ne discute pas ; 
autant vaut payer son avocat pour poursulvre I'homme 
d'affaires vereux qui vous a vole." This was the bit- 
terest expression I have ever heard him use. That was 
Renan at his worst ; to see him at his best, one had to 
see him after a good dinner — for Renan was somewhat 
of 2, gourmand as well as gourmet — talking to a pretty 
woman in the cozy nook of a drawing-room, his left 
hand travelling slowly every now and then to his chin, 
his eyes partly closed, and listening with the gravity of 
a diredeur — not of a confessor, for there Is a wide differ- 
ence between the two — to the semi-sentimental, semi- 
worldly confidences of his fair Interlocutor. I have got 



My Paris Note-Book. 125 

an idea that Renan guessed more secrets than were ever 
confided to half-a-dozen of the most worldly /r|/"^/^ de 
police during the most ' ' festive' ' days of the Second 
Empire, which is not saying little. I am speaking of 
the days before *' 1' Abbesse de Jouarre." 

Lamartine's niece, the clever Madame de Pierreclos, 
said one day of Littre, * ' G' est un saint qui ne croit pas 
en Dieu." A woman might even write such a sentence, 
a man may scarcely say it. But, truth to tell, I never 
troubled much about Renan' s belief, for it would have 
made no difference to mine. I have often heard him 
talk of life, and of the mysteries surrounding death, and 
am bound to confess that after each conversation I was 
as much at sea as ever with regard to Renan' s view of 
that one secret we all would like to fathom ; but I did 
not trouble. I remembered the story of that successor 
of Quasimodo who shows the towers of Notre-Dame to 
strangers. One day he invited one of his friends to sup 
with him on the topmost landing. The host talked and 
ate a good deal ; his guest felt his head whirling round, 
and could not swallow a morsel. "A bon entendeur, 
salut." 

Among the many celebrities who were on intimate 
terms with my uncles was Paul de Kock, the real 
French Dickens, though he fell short of the genius of 
the Englishman. He was virtually, though not nomi- 
nally, a countryman of theirs, and their admiration of 
him was distinctly influenced by the fact. For though 
my uncles were capable judges in literary matters, they 
could see no faults in their friend's works. Every new 
volume that appeared was carefully bound and added to 
their collection. But though these books were within 
my reach, and I was never forbidden to read them, I 
was at least sixteen or seventeen before I thought of 



126 My Paris Note-Book. 

doing so, and then only In consequence of an accidental 
conversation with a lad of my own age. He was the 
cousin to a young Dutch girl who was within an ace of 
becoming the wife of Theodore Barriere, about whom I 
shall probably have to say something by and by. For 
once, in a way, my gossip, if it be not amusing, may be 
instructive, that is, if by chatting about one of the best 
play- Wrights France has produced during the nineteenth 
century, I can induce English adapters to try their hand 
at some of his pieces. 

To return to my theme. Paul de Kock came to my 
uncles' two or three times a week. They had known 
his father's brother, who was some time Minister of the 
Interior in Holland. Paul de Kock's father perished 
on the scaffold during the Reign of Terror, the wealthy 
Dutch banker having been denounced as a foreign spy 
and an agent of Pitt. One day my young friend en- 
tered our apartment as the novelist was leaving it. De 
Kock was very fond of young people, and he bowed to 
my visitor with that old-fashioned, high-bred, grave 
courtesy that belonged formerly to the French middle 
classes, as well as to the French aristocracy, but the 
traces of which it is very difficult to find among the 
bourgeoisie of the Third Republic. Flattered by the 
dapper, well-dressed gentleman's notice — for Paul de 
Kock was scarcely above the middle height, and always 
looked as neat as a new pin — my young comrade, with 
the curiosity of a somewhat precocious stripling, asked me 
his name. ' ' That, ' ' I answered, ' ' is M. Paul de Kock. ' ' 
"The father of the clever novelist of that name?" re- 
marked my companion interrogatively. ''No," I said ; 
''his son's name is Henri de Kock, he is a novelist, 
too' ' "I know that, and the gentleman who went out 
just now is his grandfather," persisted my interlocutor. 



My Paris Note-Book. 127 

* ' Not at all ; the gentleman who went out just now is 
M. Paul de Kock, the novelist. His father's name was 
Conrad de Kock, and he was beheaded during the First 
Revolution." "Do you mean to say that the nice, 
elderly looking gentleman whom I met at your door is 
the writer of all these funny stories ?" **I don't know 
about the stories being funny ; I have never read them, 
but if they are funny, he is the man who wrote them." 
''Well, then, all I can say is this, he must have got some 
one to write them for him, for he does not look as if he 
had an ounce of fun or humour in him." 

Such was the first impression M. Paul de Kock inva- 
riably produced upon people much older and much 
more observant than my companion. Only those who 
knew De Kock intimately ever caught a glimpse of that 
vis comica which set, and still sets, thousands of readers 
throughout the civilized world screaming with laughter. 
It need not be said that a lad of my age could not have 
been very intimate with a sexagenarian not belonging 
to his family, and who was, moreover, very reserved in 
ordinary company. That was the reason why his books 
had had no attraction for me. I judged very much by the 
outside of men and things then. Alfred de Musset, 
whom I saw at my uncles' once ; Maris, who was a con- 
stant visitor when in Paris ; Theodore Barriere, whom 
we met at the Cafe des Vari6tes — for my uncles took me 
thither with them in the daytime ; Alexandre Dumas 
the elder, who appeared and disappeared like a meteor — 
these were my heroes ; while Joseph Mery, of whom 
Englishmen have scarcely heard, but whose every line 
should be translated for them, was my "jester in ordi- 
nary." Paul de Kock was simply a kind, elderly gen- 
tleman — for he was kindness itself, and the constant 
purveyor of seats for the theatres, big and small, whom 



128 My Paris Note-Book. 

I liked very much, but who in no way struck me as the 
ideal romancier^ as I conceived the romancier then. 
Faultlessly dressed, generally in a cafe-au-lait overcoat 
and light trousers, dazzlingly white Hnen and blue bird's- 
eye cravat, his hair and narrow side-whiskers carefully 
trimmed — I have a suspicion the latter were curled — 
somewhat corpulent and by no means tall, there was a 
difficulty of picturing that man's "eye in fine frenzy 
rolling ;" in fact, I feel convinced it never did roll in that 
manner, though later on in life I have often seen it dance 
with mirth. But even in his most expansive moments 
there was a tinge of sadness in his smiles. People said 
that it was the recollection of his father's terrible death 
that ever and anon obtruded itself upon his thoughts, 
but I fancy this was a mere theory. In spite of his 
great success, nay, because of that great success, Paul 
de Kock, from the moment I was capable of forming an 
opinion on such matters, seemed to me a disappointed 
man. The silence of the critics must have been a bitter 
drop in his brimful cup of happiness. His first book 
was written when he was barely seventeen, and was, 
from the publisher's view, a success. Next to the elder 
Dumas, he was the most voluminous writer of fiction 
France has had during the nineteenth century, not a 
single book of his ever proved a financial failure ; but 
" criticism" passed superciliously by, disdaining to 
blame or to praise. At a rough guess, I should compute 
Paul de Kock's Hterary baggage at over four hundred 
plays and novels, exclusive of the short stories. For 
over fifty-five years he kept the whole of France in a 
constant roar of laughter ; a protracted and laborious 
search might unearth about a dozen criticisms worthy of 
the name. That, in my opinion, was the principal cause 
of Paul de Kock's carefully suppressed melancholy. 



My Paris Note-Book. 129 

And yet, those who watched the man and who, to 
use the French expression, ''know their Paris" — I am 
putting the verb in the present tense purposely, for the 
Paris of which Paul de Kock treated has to a consider- 
able extent remained stationary, morally and mentally, 
though not materially — I repeat, those who watched 
the man and had the opportunity of comparing his por- 
traits and groups with the originals must have surely 
come to the conclusion that it required no small amount 
of skill to paint those petits bourgeois and bourgeoises in 
their habit as they lived. Whenever I think of the in- 
justice done to Paul de Kock by those who, from a cre- 
ative, if not from a literary point of view, were not fit to 
stand in his shadow, I am always reminded of two an- 
ecdotes, one of which may not be absolutely new to 
English readers, but both of which will bear repeating 
for the sake of the admirable lesson they convey. 

The first sight of Mount Lebanon produced such an 
effect on Lamartine that there and then he improvised 
an admirable description of the scene, face to face with 
the scene itself. One of his companions, a young offi- 
cer, could not help remarking : * ' But, Monsieur de 
Lamartine, where do you see all you describe ? I fail 
to perceive a single thing of what you describe." ''I 
can understand that, ' ' was the answer ; ' ' I look with 
the eyes of a poet, you with the eyes of a staff-ofiicer." 

When Turner had finished his picture of ' ' Covent 
Garden," he invited a friend of his, a lady, to come 
and see it. ''It's no doubt very fine, Mr. Turner," 
was the comment, after a little while, ' ' I also have 
been to Covent Garden, but I am unable to see it in 
that light." "Don't you wish you could. Madam?" 
growled the painter with a savage smile. 

Although Paul de Kock liked the country, he was as 



I30 My Paris Note-Book. 

often in Paris as at Romainville, where he had bought a 
modest estate, which on the first day of the week during 
the summer months became the rendezvous of many- 
sincere friends, the ' ' bigwigs of criticism' ' being, how- 
ever, conspicuous by their absence. I doubt whether 
it would have been possible to dislike the popular nov- 
elist as a man, or the man as a novelist ; but it was, 
perhaps, equally impossible to enjoy the hospitality of 
the one without noticing the works of the other ; and as 
these high and mighty critics were determined to ignore 
the books, they were perforce compelled to abstain from 
visiting their author. I fancy they would have done 
the same with Jan Steen, Adriaan Brouwer, Franz 
Hals, Gerard Douw, and Van Ostade, if they had 
happened to wield the pen in the days of those worthies. 
On the other hand, Paul de Kock, after a certain time, 
probably ceased to invite them, lest his invitation should 
be construed into a bribe. The critics were the losers, 
for apart from the thoroughly pleasant entertainment 
provided by the host and hostess, they might have 
witnessed the ' ' genesis' ' of a couple of amusing chap- 
ters, nay, of the whole of a novel when, after dinner, 
Paul de Kock took his guests to one of the open-air 
balls in the neighbourhood. The novelist had, more- 
over, built a small theatre, on which he tried his pieces 
before submitting them to theatrical ^managers. 

Towards the latter end of his life, when I was no 
longer a thoughtless lad, I often witnessed a "genesis" 
of that kind when standing by his side at the window 
of the small apartment he occupied for more than forty 
years on the Boulevard Saint-Martin, a few doors from 
the theatre of that name. He would stand motionless 
for a long while, steadfastly looking at the busy scene 
below, through his old-fashioned, pearl-handled lorgnon^ 



My Paris Note-Book. 131 

without uttering a syllable ; then would turn round and 
say, '' 5^ y ^st> j'ai ce qu'il me faut." As a matter of 
course, I had seen nothing remarkable about the chaffer- 
ing noisy crowd, and would tell him so. *' C'est bien 
probable, mais vous ne voyez pas comme moi ;" he 
replied one day. '^Un Bichat ou un Cuvier ne voit 
dans un Napoleon ou un Cromwell qu'un animal ver- 
tebre, le romancier ou I'historien y trouve ou un heros 
ou un grand criminel ; 1' inexperience a aussi ses Bichats 
et ses Cuviers." It was on that day that I told him the 
story of Turner, and he in his turn told me the well- 
known story of Lamartine. He wound up by paying 
me a compliment : " D'apres ce que vous m'avez dit, 
mon ami, vous y verrez clair assez tot pour votre bon- 
heur." He stopped for a moment, then clenched the 
whole. *' Apres tout," he sighed ; '' il n'y a que deux 
manieres d' envisager le monde ; c' est de le traiter en 
asperge ou en artichaut, de chercher la t^te ou le coeur 
des gens. Moi je cherche le coeur." I do not think 
that the critics who ignored him so persistently could 
have formulated a better philosophy in fewer words. 

Those who are familiar with the novelist's habits, 
were enabled to guess without difficulty the mood that 
would preside at the day's work by glancing at his at- 
tire. The white-serge monk's frock of Balzac has be- 
come legendary ; Alexandre Dumas the elder mostly 
worked with his shirt-sleeves rolled up to the elbow, 
and with the collar of that garment unfastened ; Auber 
frequently composed with his baton ; Horace Vernet, 
who looked like the trimmest of cavalry officers out- 
doors and in society, would have willingly done with- 
out clothing at all while painting, but, to use his own 
words, '' donned a pair of trousers and shirt, as a con- 
cession to decency." The famous battle painter, who 



132 My Paris Note-Book. 

was physical and moral courage and energy personified, 
who read Nicholas I. one of the severest lessons a mon- 
arch ever received from a humbler mortal, painted as he 
would have fought ; consequently, after an hour or so, 
the shirt became dripping wet. Eugene Delacroix, a 
thorough man of the world, and exceedingly careful of 
his appearance when abroad, was more than slovenly 
when at home. An old jacket buttoned up to the chin, 
a large muffler round his neck, a cloth cap pulled over 
his ears, and a pair of thick felt slippers made up his 
usual garb in his studio. A chronic affection of the 
throat and an extreme sensitiveness to cold scarcely 
justified this utter disregard of appearances ; in com- 
mon fairness, however, it should be said that Delacroix 
never professed ' ' to make a show, ' ' either of himself, 
his work, or his studio. Though he was "at home" 
from three till five to visitors of both sexes, it was dis- 
tinctly understood that he would not interrupt his work, 
or play the host in the sense of the popular painter of 
to-day. Paul Delaroche wore a blouse when at work ; 
and Ingres, until he became "a society man," which 
was very late in life, always wore a dressing-gown. 
Scribe, like Buffon, who sat down to his table in lace 
ruffles and frilled shirt, dressed very carefully early in 
the morning, and had only to take up his hat when his 
self-allotted task was done. All these men, though, 
and several others whom I could mention, never de- 
parted from the custom once adopted : their dress did 
not vary with the nature of their work. Whether the 
subject they treated was a playful or a tragic, their 
attire underwent no modification. Different was it with 
Paul de Kock. When engaged upon a serious chapter 
— I use the word serious in the comparative sense— he 
never failed to ' ' get into ' ' a blue frock coat of military 



My Paris Note-Book. 133 

cut, and ornamented with frogs — a coat such as was still 
worn within my recollection by some of the veterans of 
the First Empire when in mufti. When the subject 
had to be treated in the lighter vein, he wrapped him- 
self in a blue flannel dressing-gown, and jauntily poised 
an elaborately embroidered smoking-cap with a mar- 
vellous golden tassel on his head. My uncles told me 
that during the composition of ' * L' homme aux trois 
Culottes " — the only political novel De Kock wrote — the 
last mentioned articles entirely disappeared. A couple 
of years since, while at Monte Carlo, I was reminded 
of this attempt of the novelist to suit his attire to the 
business in hand by the remark of an old acquaintance, 
a former croupier^ who was then discharging the duties 
of superintendent of the rooms. While we were chat- 
ting together, an old gentleman, faultlessly dressed in 
the fashion of a quarter of a century ago, made his 
appearance. ' * Voici Monsieur qui va jouer, ' ' said my 
interlocutor, glancing at the new-comer, whose name 
I have suppressed purposely, seeing that it is an his- 
toric one, and that the bearer of it may still be alive. 

*' A quoi voyez-vous cela?" I asked, somewhat sur- 
prised. ''Rien qu'a le voir, on dirait qu'il joue tous 
les jours." 

** Non pas," was the answer ; '* il ne joue pas t ous 
les jours; il s'^coule meme des semaines sans qu'il 
joue. ' ' 

* ' Done, je r^pete ma question : A quoi voyez-vous 
qu'il va jouer aujourd'hui?" 

* ' C est qu' il a mis son frac, sa belle cravate, ses bot- 
tines vernies et tout le reste. II ne s'habille comme 5a 
que quand il a de 1' argent pour jouer ; quand il est a 
sec il vient en veston ou en jaquette. II vient a I'assaut 
de la banque en grande tenue." 



134 ^Y Paris Note-Book. 

I have already said that Paul de Kock's apartment 
in Paris was small to a degree — I might have said un- 
comfortably small ; but in virtue of its situation, it con- 
stituted an admirable watch-tower, for the Boulevard 
St. Martin was to the Quartier du Marais what the 
Boulevard des Italiens was, and to a certain extent still 
is, to the Chaussee d'Antin and the Faubourg St. 
Honor6 — its playground and promenade. That was 
probably the reason of the novelist's remaining there to 
the last. There were only two rooms looking on to the 
street, the drawing-room and a small bedroom ; the 
latter did duty at the same time as a study. A descrip- 
tion of the drawing-room would baffle a more skilled 
pen than mine, just because it was the absolute counter- 
part of a hundred similar ones I saw in those days. 
Mahogany chairs, upholstered in red material, arranged 
methodically along the walls ; a couple of Voltaires (read, 
easy chairs) standing sentry by the fireplace ; red cur- 
tains at the windows ; a gilt clock and candelabra on 
the mantel-shelf; a table standing in the centre of a 
carpet — which gave one the impression of an oasis of 
worsted in a wilderness of waxed flooring — on the table 
a cellaret which would probably fetch a long price at 
present, but the like of which in those days could be 
bought by the dozen. A few engravings and two or 
three pictures, by no means masterpieces, completed 
the furniture. 

More interesting was the study and bedroom in one. 
If the drawing-room was like a hundred others, the 
study was unlike that of any literary man I knew or 
know. To begin with ; there was absolutely no litter, 
and the mahogany writing-table, placed by the side of 
the window, which was left free of access, was the 
smallest I have seen under similar conditions. There 



My Paris Note-Book. 135 

were no stray papers, no dictionaries, nor books of 
reference of any kind ; a large white earthenware ink- 
stand — I have got its twin-brother, left to me by my 
uncles ; a sous-viain^ which must not be confounded 
with a modern blotter, for Paul de Kock clung to the 
old-fashioned method of drying his manuscript with 
sand, a capacious wooden bowl filled with which flanked 
the inkstand ; a few steel pens in primitive holders ; a 
quire or so of quarto paper ; and that was all. Paper- 
weights, letter-clips, and the paraphernalia of the luxu- 
riously appointed sanctum of the well-to-do author 
were conspicuous by their absence. 

The principal feature of the long and narrow room 
was a set of book-shelves made of plain deal, that had 
either been stained originally, or become darkened with 
age. At a rough guess, they contained between 400 and 
500 volumes, three-fourths of which were the author's 
own works — of course, I mean the various editions of 
his works, from the cheap piracies, printed in Belgium, 
which drove him almost mad with grief on account of 
their terrible printer's errors, to the magnificently bound 
and handsomely illustrated Edition de luxe, which drove 
him nearly crazy with delight, albeit that pecuniarily he 
had suffered as much by the publication of the latter as 
by the publication of the former. A simple walnut bed- 
stead, hung with primitive chintz curtains, a tiny couch 
and one arm-chair, both upholstered in green morocco, 
and a washhand-stand completed the furniture of the 
apartment in which one of the most laborious and useful 
of lives was spent, for, in spite of all opinions to the 
contrary, Paul de Kock's was a useful life, for he did for 
his contemporaries, and to a certain extent for posterity, 
what it is given to few men to do. He made them laugh, 
and the laughter left no bitter after-taste. If proof of 



136 My Paris Note-Book. 

this were wanted, it would be found in the two following 
facts. 

In 1835, Emile de Girardin, in answer to an article by 
Balzac, drew up a rough statement of the marketable 
value of the then famous authors, whom he divided into 
five categories. Victor Hugo stood at the head of the 
list in company with Paul de Kock. 

The only man who, besides the author himself, had a 
complete edition of his works, was not only one of the 
shrewdest judges of humanity, but one of the best critics 
of the intrinsic — read, moral — value of books, as dis- 
tinguished from their literary merits — I am alluding to 
Giovanni-Maria Mastai-Ferretti, better known to the 
world at large as Pope Pius IX. 



My Paris Note-Book. 137 



CHAPTER VI. 

A view of French society under the Third Republic — Wanted 
a Sebastien Mercier — In default of such an one, the author 
attempts the task— The author's qualifications — The author's 
knowledge of most of the present rulers of France — The author's 
system of getting at the truth — Look for the woman — The absence 
of the nice female element from the principal thoroughfares — The 
author takes a walk with an English friend — The lady's ante- 
cedents and present position — A remark of M. Edouard Herve 
of Le So leil— The author's friend explains the situation— The 
attitude of the Faubourgs Saint-Germain and Saint-Honor6 
towards the Republican bigwigs— The women of the Chauss^e 
d'Antin — A scene from Dumas' Etrangere in real life— The late 
General Boulanger and his second daughter — Why the wives of 
the Republican bigwigs shun the public thoroughfares — A minis- 
ter's "lady" on the prevalence of Oflfenbachian music in the 
Church service— An invitation to a dinner-party — My first impres- 
sion — The late Emile Perrin on diamonds as heirlooms — A scrap 
of conversation. 

Some one — I do not remember who — has suggested 
that a new ' ' Tableau de Paris' ' might be written every 
ten years. I quite agree with the suggestion, and I do 
not even make it an essential condition that the limner 
of such a word-picture sho'uld be a Sebastien Mercier ; 
although there are Paris journalists of the present day to 
the full as able to accomplish the task as the eighteenth 
century chronicler. Nevertheless, they seem to shirk 
it. Perhaps they are wise in their generation. They 
are, perhaps, conscious of lacking, not the required 
talent, but the required impartiality. They are either 
partisans of one of the fallen dynasties, or else cham- 

12* 



138 My Paris Note-Book. 

plons of the existing regime and their pohtical tendencies 
notwithstanding, they are mindful, under the circum- 
stances, of Spinoza's precept — " It is not our duty to 
praise or to blame, but simply to observe. ' ' 

I have no such fear with regard to my impartiality, 
albeit it has been questioned, not once, but a score of 
times ; the latest onslaught on me only dating from a 
fortnight ago.' I made up my mind long since not to 
answer such attacks. I have been called ' ' a spy in the 
pay of Bismarck," and a "canting, hypocritical priest," 
the latter because they, the assailants, remembered the 
great Father Prout, one of whose humble successors I 
was as the Paris correspondent of The Globe ; I have 
been called many things. The term ' ' canting, hypo- 
critical priest" was flung at me by Madame S6verine, 
who succeeded Jules Valles as the editor of Le Cri du 
Peuple. If her predecessor, with whom I was on very 
cordial terms for many years, had been alive, he would 
have probably told her that my godliness consisted in 
holding up the right cheek when the left is kissed by a 
pretty woman, not in holding up the left when the right 
is smitten by a man. It was some consolation, though, 
to be mistaken for a Father Prout, even by a Madame 
Severine. 

With regard to my other qualifications for giving a 
comprehensive and at the same time concise view of 
Paris society in the third decade of the Third Republic, 
I will say as little as possible. I have known personally 
most of the men who have lorded it over France during 
the last twenty-three years ; I have known them when 
they were obscure — and deservedly obscure— adventur- 
ers who, with the exception of Gambetta, had not be- 

^ This was written on the 5th February, and I am alluding to a 
violent attack in La Liberie of the 23rd January 1894, 



My Paris Note-Book. 139 

tween them a fourth of the talent of Perslgny, let alone 
of Louis Napoleon. I know the means by which they 
have attained their present positions, I know the women 
they have taken to their hearts and homes — perhaps a 
little too well — and I mean to speak out freely about 
all. I would warn the reader squeamish in those mat- 
ters, to put down my book at once. When Joshua the 
son of Nun sent out spies to view the land, even Jeri- 
cho, the latter did not apply for information to the care- 
ful housewife and mother ; they went to Rahab. During 
the last twenty-five years I have often adopted a similar 
proceeding. In France, as elsewhere, respectability 
that drives a gig is exceedingly selfish ; more than com- 
monly ignorant ; nine times out of ten afraid to open 
its lips ; and downright uninteresting when it does open 
them. Non-respectability, especially when it is being 
driven in a brougham, or when it tools its own mail- 
phaeton, is not half such a coward ; is frequently very 
sympathetic ; nearly always amusing ; and not more 
mendacious than the other. Besides, in France more 
than in any other country, the axiom first formulated 
by Marie Stuart's son — for it was he and not a judge 
who formulated it — ''Look for the woman," used to 
hold good in almost every case. It does not do so now 
in politics. There is only one instance during the last 
two decades in which the influence of a woman indi- 
rectly provoked a political crisis, and she was not a 
strange goddess, but a very legitimate spouse ; I am 
alluding to the Duchesse de Magenta. But for his wife 
Marshal Mac-Mahon would not have gone to the Elysee, 
and if a less honest man had been there at the time, the 
RepubHc would have been strangled at its birth. For 
its father was neither Adolphe Thiers, nor Jules Favre, 
nor Gambetta, nor any of the men who usurped power 



140 My Paris Note-Book. 

on the 4th September 1870, even more flagrantly than 
did Louis Napoleon on the morning of the 2nd Decem- 
ber 1 85 1, for he, at any rate, had been placed by the 
"voice of the nation" in the position whence he could 
usurp power ; they had not. The real founder of the 
Third RepubHc, the founder in spite of himself, was 
Mac-Mahon. He will duly figure in my ** attempted" 
picture, which as yet is merely a blank canvas before 
me, a canvas before which, remembering what I said 
about the talent of some of the Paris journalists, I am 
standing asking myself whether I have the literary skill 
either to begin or finish it ? But at the same time there 
occurs to me the answer of Machiavelli to that princess 
who went to consult him about her son. * ' Whatever 
he does, he does badly," she sighed. " It is better to 
do things badly than not to do them at all," was the 
reply. 

The background to my picture does not promise well. 
I have no groups of well-dressed, fascinating, sprightly 
women comme il faut to incorporate with it. I have 
only women comme il en faut — to use Gautier's expres- 
sion to Heine — and even of these there is a scarcity. 
To the man who, like myself, knows every inch of his 
boulevards from the Rue Scribe to the Rue Drouot, 
this absence of the nice female element from the prin- 
cipal thoroughfare is a subject of perpetual wonder and 
regret, and he cannot help remarking upon it to his 
companion for the time being. Until the year before 
last, I failed to get a valid, or call it a plausible, expla- 
nation of the supposed voluntary exile of the sweeter 
part of humanity from her customary haunts. It came 
from a dear old friend, a woman of the world, who is 
about my own age — that is no longer young — and who 
has a catholic sympathy with the foibles, nay, with the 



My Paris Note-Book. 141 

vices of mankind, and especially with those of her own 
sex. She is English though she speaks French like a 
native, and has been married twice. Her first husband 
was one of her countrymen, a naval officer ; her second 
is a Frenchman, the bearer of a name which is virtually 
a rallying cry among the Republicans, although ' ' the 
exploit whence sprung the fame" was not performed by 
him, but by his brother, who died recently. My friend's 
husband is, however, as sincere a Republican as was his 
brother, but of a different type. If I could see a Re- 
public with such men as he is at the helm, I would be- 
come a Republican myself Curiously enough, for 
there are not many women who are RepubHcans at 
heart, his wife shares his political convictions to the full. 
She and her husband remained in Paris during the 
Commune, and, in spite of the latter' s well-known 
antipathy to everything savouring of violence, were 
never molested. During that period she was invited 
on several occasions "to contribute her pav^ to the 
making of a barricade," with which invitations she in- 
variably complied graciously. I have said this much 
about her to show that, intellectually and morally, she 
is not hostile to a Republican regime. But whenever I 
discuss the subject with her, I am reminded of a remark 
made to me some years ago by M. Edouard Herve, the 
editor of Le Soleil : ' ' In every French aristocrat there 
is the making of a democrat ; in every English demo- 
crat there is the basis of an aristocrat." I am bound to 
say that my friend's republicanism is pretty well shaken 
off at her front door, and very seldom allowed to invade 
her home. 

On the occasion referred to, I happened to meet her 
by accident a few hours after my arrival in Paris, and 
we strolled down the Boulevards Malesherbes and 



142 - My Paris Note-Book. 

Haussmann as far as the Rue Auber, and from thence 
to the Place de 1' Opera. It was a mild December day, 
the sky being somewhat overclouded and the pavement 
rather damp. Now I am no longer young, but never- 
theless a great admirer of a pretty pair of feet and 
ankles, and on a damp day, ^^j^ai la vue basse, ^^ as M. 
Francisque Sarcey said once when remonstrated with 
by a lady whose nether extremities he was scrutinising 
a little too closely. During our stroll, however, there 
was nothing to admire in that respect. But for the lan- 
guage spoken around me, I might have been in Berlin 
or Amsterdam ; in these two cities only could I have 
seen so many pairs of galoches outside the shop win- 
dows during so short a period. Nor was this all. Though 
it was the hour at which the Parisienne with nothing par- 
ticular to do, takes her walks abroad, I did not see a 
dozen well-dressed women. The weather was not suffi- 
ciently bad to justify this abstention on her part, and, as 
a matter of course, I commented upon it. * ' The Fau- 
bourg St. Germain and the Faubourg St. Honor6 no 
longer take their womankind on to the boulevards of an 
afternoon," replied my friend. *' The men are more or 
less compelled to come in contact with the new rulers of 
France, but they object to introduce them to their wives, 
daughters, and sisters. And it is exceedingly difficult 
not to introduce them without being downright rude, 
or, to say the least, impolite, for Louis Napoleon's father 
was right when he said ' qu'il n'y a pas de laide duchesse 
pour un bourgeois.' If the partisans of the vanished 
dynasties were bent merely on fighting against measures 
instead of bringing back rulers, they might have accom- 
plished the former object long ago by throwing one or 
two of their salons open to the wire-pullers and the lead- 
ers of the various RepubHcan sections, for there is not 



My Paris Note-Book. * 143 

one of these leaders, with the exceptions of Brisson and 
Freycinet, the latter of whom is an aristocrat himself, 
who could not be wheedled into anything by a charming 
woman belonging to the older or even newer noblesse. 

*' As for the women belonging to the Chaussee d' An- 
tin," my friend went on, "their disappearance from 
their favourite promenades is due to another cause. A 
great many are not sufficiently sure of their own social 
standing not to be afraid of being mistaken for, or being 
obliged to be introduced to, the wives of some of the 
present bigwigs. Their husbands, I mean the husbands 
from the Chaussee d' Antin, unlike the Legitimists, Mon- 
archists, and Bonapartists, do not mind their spouses 
coming in contact with the male section of the powers 
that be, for there is something to be gained by that con- 
tact ; but they draw the line at their wives' contact with 
the women, unless they are absolutely driven into a cor- 
ner ; for it has happened before now that the granting 
of a concession or the signing of a fat contract has been 
made dependent upon the admission of the wife of a 
minister or permanent secretary to the salon of the wife 
of a big brasseur d' affaires^ who, the wife, petite and 
VQvy petite boiirgeoise as she may have been, considers 
herself above the petite ouvriere or modiste. We'll re- 
main within the narrowest bounds, and still be charitable 
— the petite ouvriere or modiste whom the whirligig of 
politics has pitch-forked into a conspicuous position. 
You remember that scene in the younger Dumas' 
V Etrangere in which Mrs. Clarkson offers ever so 
many thousand francs for a cup of tea in the Duchesse 
de Sept-Monts' drawing-room? That scene has been 
enacted over and over again in real life during the past 
few years ; the bribe, of course, not being so many thou- 
sands of francs for the poor, but the large concession, 



144 ^^ Paris Note-Book. 

the profitable sinecure for a relation, or the fat contract 
to which I have alluded. You must remember that la 
courtisane sur le retour, la Jille du peiiple, and the rest 
of the women of les nouvelles couches enrichies — if their 
mankind be ofiicially connected with the Republic — can 
no longer take a ticket for a social haven or paradise of 
some sort en route for heaven ; that is, they can no longer 
call the priest to their aid, as they did formerly, by lar- 
gesse for his flock, or contributions for a new or restored 
church. That would jeopardise their husbands' or 
fathers' position. Boulanger, who had sent his second 
daughter to a convent when he was a mere general, took 
her out again when he became Minister for War. See- 
ing that each of the parties, except the Republican, was 
hoping, if not deluding itself into the belief, that the 
General was working for them, they accepted, though 
not without a wry face, the lame explanation furnished 
by the General's friends, that the General's altered cir- 
cumstances would enable him to provide a dot for the 
second daughter as well as for the first. The Repubh- 
cans themselves, and, for that matter, Boulanger too, 
knew well enough that with his daughter in a convent 
he would not have been able to hold ofhce for a month, 
and at that time they, the Republicans, had not taken 
the measure of the man, and were not afraid of him, or 
else he had not taken the measure of the extreme sec- 
tion, and thought that he could throw dust in their eyes 
by his daughter's return to society. To this argument 
of mine you may oppose the fact that Madame la 
Duchesse de Magenta and Madame Carnot are faithful 
Catholics and perform the duties of their religion. This 
may be. I doubt, however, whether a priest ever en- 
tered the Elys6e during Mac-Mahon's tenancy of the 
Presidential chair, or if he enters there now except on 



My Paris Note-Book. 145 

business. Besides, a President is a President, and the 
mob and the wire-pullers of the extreme Radical sections 
cannot hound him away unless he should commit some 
flagrant breach of the Constitution. Take my word for 
it, that no minister's wife could edge her way into soci- 
ety by means of the priest without her husband's life 
being made a burden to him, not only by his Republican 
opponents, but by his colleagues also. ' ' 

' ' But, ' ' I observed, * ' all these parvemtes may not be 
able to get into the right set, or what they think to be 
the right set, or the only set that is at all attainable ; 
still there is no reason why they should voluntarily exile 
themselves from the streets. Nay, I read the other day 
in a paper which I feel confident is well informed on the 
subject, a list of dresses and cloaks, &c., ordered by one 
of these. They must be shown somewhere, for my own 
experience tells me that woman — of no matter what 
nationality— does not order all that finery for the mere 
pleasure of sitting at home in it." 

''You are right," replied my friend, smiHng ; '' they 
do not sit at home in it ; but, I repeat, they do not 
come out into the streets, not even in an open carriage, 
let alone on foot. Of course there are exceptions, but 
I am talking of the majority. I could tell you of scenes 
which the Palais-Royal farce-writer would think too ex- 
travagant, too far-fetched, to reproduce on the stage, 
but which nevertheless have occurred not once, but a 
half-dozen times in real life. I will do so one day ; 
meanwhile let me tell you what does keep them out of 
the street — the fear of being recognised and accosted by 
their former companions, acquaintances, and friends, 
who, if the truth be told, are probably much more 
creditable than they. But it is not pleasant for a min- 
ister's or even an ambassador's wife, however honest in 
G k 13 



146 My Paris Note-Book. 

the main her former acquaintances may be, to be hailed 
by them while she is sitting proudly in a grand carriage 
with coachman and footman on the box, and while they, 
the acquaintances, are en cheveux^ with a large bonnet- 
box dangling from their hands, or a laundry-basket 
slung on their arm. * Tiens,' says the little dressmaker 
or ironer, * tiens, voila Phoemie, et en voiture ;' and 
forthwith she steps up to the carriage and claims ac- 
quaintance. * Comment, tu ne me remets pas ; tu ne 
reconnais pas la petite Anna ?' says the girl, as the occu- 
pant of the carriage gives her a stony stare in response 
to her salutation ; ' tu ne reconnais pas la petite Anna 
avec qui tu travaillais chez Madame Bronvart ?' ' There 
is still no response, and meanwhile a small group has 
collected, for the girl's last words have been uttered in 
a somewhat shrill tone. Badauds, /Idneurs, and d^- 
sceuvr^s of all kinds instinctively stop, expecting a 
' scene' ; the group swells into a crowd, but there is no 
* scene' ; there is only an exposition of a * scene' that 
might have been by the offended workgirl, for the foot- 
man at a wink from his mistress has told the coachman 
to drive home ; but Madame la Ministre is highly ex- 
cited, and promises herself not to risk a repetition of the 
rencontre. Within a few days all the servants get notice, 
for I need not tell you that the 'incident,' ' V aventure 
de Madame y as it is called by the valetaille, has pro- 
voked great merriment, not unmixed with spiteful com- 
ment in the kitchen, and possibly in the concierge's 
lodge, and that the engagement of a w^vj personnel was 
decided upon that very evening between His Excellency 
and his spouse. If the thing were possible, the magnifi- 
cent official residence, 'newly decorated' and sumptu- 
ously furnished, would be abandoned, for the concierge 
is to be trusted no more than the rest. But the trouble 



My Paris Note-Book. 147 

and expense of such a sudden flitting to the private 
residence which has been dismantled are too great. As 
it is, the ministere is left for a week or so to the tender 
mercies of the ushers, during which time another staff 
of private servants is recruited, if possible from the 
country. Madame goes to Dieppe, Etretat, or Caute- 
rets, if in the summer ; to Biarritz, Pau, or Monte Carlo, 
if in the winter ; while Monsieur le Ministre takes up his 
quarters at an hotel. You look incredulous ; I can 
assure you I am not drawing upon my imagination ; to 
my knowledge the thing has happened twice within a 
twelvemonth. I myself have heard a minister's wife 
apostrophised from the gallery of a very good theatre 
while she was seated in a stage box." 

"But," I objected, "there are some bigwigs of the 
Republic whose wives belong to very good families ; for 
instance, Jules Ferry, Floquet, Flourens, the former 
Minister for Foreign Affairs, Freycinet, and others." ' 

* ' True, ' ' was the answer ; * ' but wherever that is the 
case, they receive the wives of their husbands' col- 
leagues only 'officially,' albeit that some of these — I 
mean the wives — are their equals in point of birth and 
education. They are bound to do this, else the others 
would slip in, and their private social gatherings would 
become the laughing-stock of the nation ; for there is 
always some good-natured nouvelliste a la main or 
chroniqueur who, though belonging to the Republican 
party, is not above making capital out of the pataques 
and malaprop remarks he hears by selling them embel- 
lished to the Opposition papers. This wholesale ostra- 
cism of all ministers' wives by one another is largely 
due to the bulls and blunders of Madame . . . ,' which 

* The name was duly mentioned ; at my publisher's request I 
have suppressed it. 



148 My Paris Note-Book. 

for the first few years after her appearance in society 
made the round of the press. Here is one of these 
unfortunate remarks which has never appeared. Some 
six or seven years ago she took it into her head to 
attend the Lenten Services at St. Eustache. About 
the same time there was a successful revival of several 
of Offenbach's operas, and one or two of the more 
seriously inclined papers protested against this, on 
the score that La Belle Helene, La Grande Duchesse^ 
and the rest had contributed largely to the prevailing 
corruption during the Second Empire ; that after the 
war, France had faithfully promised herself not to be 
betrayed into such follies again, and so forth ; with all 
of which remarks the lady cordially agreed. From 
what I have heard, it would seem that, previous to this 
sudden fit of religious observance, the lady had not 
been in a church for years, perhaps not since her ' first 
communion,' if she was ever confirmed at all, or she 
may never have set foot in a sacred building in her life ; 
for I have been told, though I do not know how far the 
story is true, that she was the daughter of a working- 
man who about '48 loudly professed his Voltairean prin- 
ciples. There is not much harm in that, for every one 
has the right to think as he likes ; the worst is that 
these working-men, though they read a good deal them- 
selves, rarely impart their knowledge to their female 
offspring, and simply forbid them to go to mass. The 
habit of staying away, being once contracted, is rarely 
changed except under extraordinary circumstances. 
Anyhow, the lady had no prayer-book on the first day 
of her devotional pilgrimage, and some one obligingly 
offered her one. In the afternoon she paid a visit to 
the wife of another minister, and was in a state of great 
indignation. Her hostess, as a matter of course, asked 



My Paris Note-Book. 149 

the reason. * It is positively disgraceful, ' was the re- 
ply ; * they are not content with having the music of 
that Offenbach here, there, and everywhere, but they 
must needs introduce it into the Church service.' 
* Surely, chere Madame, you are mistaken ; I went to 
Notre- Dame yesterday, but I heard no music of Offen- 
bach,' remarked the hostess. 'That's rather curious,' 
was the rejoinder, ' for it is marked in the prayer-book 
they lent me ; but perhaps it is a prayer-book intended 
for St. Eustache only.' ' I fancy there is no such special 
prayer-book, but I will see in mine ; I happen to have 
a new one, ' with which the hostess vanished for a mo- 
ment, and returned with her prayer-book. * I cannot 
find a mention of it anywhere, ' she said after a while. 
'But here it is, plain enough,' protested her visitor, 
pointing to three letters printed in italics and brackets 
in several places. She had mistaken the abbreviation 
of the word ' offertory' (Off.) for the name of the popular 
composer." 

I laughed, but knew that my friend, clever as she is, 
had not invented this. She went on. "When you 
come to Paris nowadays on a flying visit, you spend too 
much time in the theatres and the streets. I am having 
some people to dinner to-morrow. Come and have a 
look at them. And mind, they are the best, le dessus 
du pa7iier de hi troisihne republique ; it will give you an 
idea of what the lower layers are, and a pretty correct 
notion about the aspirations of the women especially. 
Mind, these are the best ; it is virtually my husband's 
nephew's dinner-party, not mine ; but his father is 
strange, and said that he could not have it at his official 
residence, as he would be compelled to invite the wives 
of some of the bigwigs of the Chamber, and that I 
always made a fuss. I don't make a fuss, but I would 

13^ 



150 My Paris Note-Book. 

willingly dispense with the nuisance of doing the honours 
of his home. If he were not too old, I would advise 
him to marry again." 

Vril be pleased to come ; but the chances are that 
some of my impressions will eventually find their way 
into print," I replied. 

' ' You may write whatever you like, provided you 
mention no names. The reverse of les grandes dames 
de par la republique, I object to see my name in print j 
but I should not be sorry to give my countrymen either 
vicariously or personally an insight into the social mean- 
ing of the words ' liberty, equality, and fraternity.' " 

My first impression on entering my friend's drawing- 
room on the following evening was that ' ' I had come in 
for a good thing." The seven or eight women — exclu- 
sive of the hostess — grouped about the apartment were 
all good-looking ; one was positively handsome, two 
sisters — I discovered the relationship later on — were 
sweetly pretty, and the rest comely. A glance told me 
that one and all were dressed literally ' ' regardless of 
expense and in excellent taste." At a rough guess, the 
diamonds worn by them must have cost collectively be- 
tween fifteen and twenty thousand pounds ; but there 
was not a single ornament or jewel but what might have 
been purchased seance tenante at any first-rate shop in 
the Rue de la Paix or on the Boulevard des Capucines. 
My friend's old-fashioned garnets and Honiton lace 
proved a welcome relief ; her female guests reminded me 
of the showroom at Worth's or Pingat's, with this dif- 
ference that the essayeuse never wears a low dress, and 
that they, the guests, were sufficiently d^collet^es to damn 
a dozen Tartuffes. It was an absolute case of " neck or 
nothing," as the Anglo-Egyptian in the Said Pasha time 



My Paris Note-Book. 151 

termed it in 1867 at the Tuileries. " Cela sent la par- 
venue, ' ' said Madame de Coislin to Madame de Chateau- 
briand nearly a hundred years before that at a similar 
exhibition in the salo?is of Madame de Stael and Madame 
Suard. ** Nous autres, femmes de la cour, nous n'avions 
que deux chemises ; on les renouvelait quand elles 6taient 
usees ; nous etions vetues de robes de sole et nous 
n'avions pas I'air de grisettes comma ces demoiselles de 
maintenant. ' ' 

I may admit that the display of diamonds fairly sur- 
prised me, and after a few moments I remarked upon 
them in an undertone to my hostess. *' Most of them 
are heirlooms," she replied with a significant smile ; ''at 
any rate, that's what I am told." My friend's smile re- 
called to my mind a conversation I had one day with the 
late M. Emile Perrin of the Comedie-Fran9aise, whose 
portrait I intend to give before the end of these pages. 
In days gone by, the Comedians, male and female, had 
to provide everything in the way of dresses for them- 
selves, which made Augustine Brohan say one day, " On 
nous mettait sur la scene toutes nues, il est vrai nous 
Etions assez jolies pour 5a." When the clever artist 
launched that epigram, many things were already paid 
for by the treasury. At present the management pro- 
vides even the boots, hats, and bonnets of the actresses 
in modern as well as costume plays ; nay, a laundress — 
une blanchisseuse de Jin, s'entend — is attached to the 
establishment. And everything is of the very best, and 
thoroughly genuine, with the exception of the paste that 
still does duty for diamonds. Talking about the latter 
on a certain occasion, the late Administrator- General 
blinked his eyes, as was his habit when he felt in a 
jocular mood, which by-the-bye was not often. 

" It does not matter," he said, '* seeing that from one 



152 My Paris Note-Book. 

year's end to another the stage jewellery is never used. 
It is surprising, ' ' he added, ' * how many heirlooms of 
jewellery there seem to be in actresses' families, for 
every remark upon the subject invariably elicits the 
same reply — ' Oh, my mother had them long before her 
marriage. ' And yet, to look at these mothers one would 
hardly think so." 

Balzac was right ; the whole of the world' s stories are 
founded upon seven originals. If that adventure of 
Judah with Tamar, as related in Genesis, had not been 
productive of such a terrible esclandre, she would have 
afterwards averred that that tell-tale ring was an heir- 
loom. 

I must remind the reader that this particular visit to 
Paris occurred at the time when the Panama scandals 
were reaching the acute stage, when initials, which but 
too thinly disguised names, freely appeared in almost 
every newspaper in connection with true or fictitious 
stories attributing rightly or wrongly a good deal of the 
spoil to certain women, the * ' friends' ' of this or that 
minister, of this or that highly placed personage. By 
my hostess' own admission, I was in the society of 
women who pretended with more or less reason — I dis- 
covered that it was with less reason — ^^ defaire la pluie 
et le beau temps^ ' in the affairs of State, and I naturally 
concluded that they would be somewhat reluctant to 
discuss the articles, paragraphs, and apologues in ques- 
tion, which, if they did not aim at them, aimed, at any 
rate, at those with whom they were known ' ' to row in 
the same boat." In less than five minutes after my 
arrival I was thoroughly undeceived on that point, for 
there was not the slightest reticence on the subject. But 
a still greater surprise was in store for me. I expected 
that every one would pretend ignorance with regard to 



My Paris Note-Book. 153 

the originals of some of these cleverly drawn portraits, 
for I had read two or three, and they were decidedly 
cleverly drawn in spite, or perhaps because, of their want 
of resemblance ; or, in default of the confidence or tact 
to plead such ignorance, would tax others with being the 
involuntary models. Not at all. The following scrap 
of conversation will afford the reader an idea of my 
second surprise. 

"You know," said a piquante brunette of about 
thirty to the handsomest woman in the room — ''you 
know for whom that portrait in Le Gaulois was meant ? 
And you know whose salon they wanted to depict ?' ' 

' ' I have got a faint suspicion to that effect, ' ' was the 
answer, with a magnificent, semi-supercilious smile, show- 
ing a splendid set of teeth. ' ' I fancy I have got a 
faint suspicion to that effect." 

*' I am told it is meant for Madame R. . . ." 

* * For Madame R. . . . ? I can assure you that it is 
not meant for Madame R. . . ." 

"Well, I have been positively assured it is." 

"You have been thoroughly misinformed, and you 
may contradict the rumour on my authority. I am 
furthermore certain that it is Madame R. . . . herself 
who spreads these rumours. But it cannot be meant 
for her, seeing that " 

"Seeing that " 

"Seeing that it is meant for me." 

"For you?" This in a tone of astonishment and 
vexation impossible to convey. 

* ' For me. I feel perfectly certain of it, for I happen 
to know the writer of the article very well." 

I repeat, I had read two or three of these articles, 
and at the time of reading them felt that if any woman 
in whom I took ever so slight an interest had been held 



154 My Paris Note-Book. 

up to obloquy — although exceedingly witty obloquy — 
in that way, I should have horsewhipped the writer 
within an inch of his life, or risked being horsewhipped 
by him. The original of that particular portrait not 
only felt evidently flattered, but I discovered afterwards 
that all the others shared the feeling, and that those 
who had been left in the "satirical cold" could 
scarcely disguise their disappointment. The greatest 
injury that could be done to them had been inflicted : 
they had been passed over in silence. In the course of 
the evening, it became clear to me that one might say 
almost anything of them, provided it was said in print 
and in a paper that could command a wide circulation. 
I doubt whether, with the exception of my hostess, one 
of the women I met that night could have given even a 
moderately intelligible account of Mme. Roland, Mme. 
de Sainte-Amaranthe, let alone of Mme. Necker, Mme. 
de Beauharnais, or Mme. de Genlis. They were un- 
questionably familiar with the names of Pompadour and 
Du Barry, with the name of the first in connection with 
dress fashions and silk stuff's, with that of the second in 
connection with a certain shade of porcelain ; beyond 
that they knew nothing of their doings or their lives ; 
as for her who for good or evil influenced the latter 
years of the reign of Louis XIV. , she who was mainly 
responsible for the revocation of the Edict of Nantes, 
but to whom France also owed the foundation of the 
*'Maison de St. Cyr," her name was probably as a 
Greek word to them. And yet every one of these 
women, who were and are only the samples of perhaps 
three or four hundred others, aspired and still aspires to 
play a role similar to that played by the women of brain 
of the eighteenth century. Their failure has been most 
flagrant, for even Gambetta, the most susceptible to 



My Paris Note-Book. 155 

woman's charms and wiles, of all those who have lorded 
it over France for the last twenty-three years, was de- 
termined to conduct ''politics without petticoats." In 
his case the tussle was perhaps harder than in that of 
any other leader or subordinate, for reasons which will 
become sufficiently apparent when I come to deal more 
fully with him. At present, I may be permitted to 
"open a parenthesis," anglic^, to digress for a while, 
and to draw upon my earlier recollection, aided, may 
be, by a little historical knowledge, in order to show 
what ' ' la politique sans les femmes ' ' really means to 
France. 



156 My Paris Note-Book. 



CHAPTER VII. 

Politics without petticoats— Marshal Mac-Mahon and the Duchesse 
de Magenta — The "friends" of the Republican bigwigs — Mme. 
Thiers and Mile. Dosne— Their influence over Theirs— A letter 
from Mile. Dosne— Mme. Grevy— Mme. Daniel Wilson,n^e Grevy 
—Jules Grevy and Mesdames de Rainneville and d'Harcourt— 
—Mme. Ferry — Mme. de Freycinet and Mile, de Freycinet — 
Boulanger and Mme. de Bonnemain — Women who influenced 
kings — Mme. Edmond Adam and Louise Michel — Political salons 
of former days — More conversation at the dinner-party — My 
friend's husband on the situation — The reason of the dislike to 
woman's influence — Corbiere's mother and Gambetta's father — ■ 
Skobelefl" and the Jewish soldier — A short retrospect — The mod- 
ern politician's love-affairs and his way of conducting them. 

Never, in the history of France, have her public men 
been exposed to such merciless scrutiny as within the 
last twenty-three years. Their integrity in political as 
well as in money matters has been frequently and not 
altogether unjustly assailed, but no one has ever said or 
written of them — ' ' This or that one is under the thumb or 
in the power of a woman whom he cannot or dare not 
disobey ; it is in this or that alcdve that he finds or looks 
for his inspirations." No one has ever been able to say 
— ''France is governed by a ballet-dancer, or by a 
duchess ;' ' though in one instance a duchess tried for a 
very, very little while to get the upper hand. She failed 
utterly, mainly, perhaps, because the man was too hon- 
est, also, probably, because they had been married many, 
many years, and though the affection subsisting between 
them was rare and sweet indeed, the glamour of passion 



My Paris Note-Book. 157 

had departed ; it was the influence of the spouse, but, 
to use a French expression, of "r6pouse mtirie, ayant 
laiss6 son sexe aux asp6rites des ann^es ; de I'epouse 
austere, demi-confesseur, demi-belle-mere." I need not 
mince matters ; neither the dead husband nor the Hving 
wife have aught to be ashamed of in that episode in 
their Hves. I am alluding to the late Marshal Mac- 
Mahon and the Duchesse de Magenta. 

Of course, there are women who have substantially- 
benefited by their relations, more or less avowable, 
with the men in power : they have had the first news 
of important events, which has enabled them to gam- 
ble on the Stock Exchange ; they have received pots- 
de-vin for securing ministerial influence for a new pat- 
ent or a new joint-stock company ; they have placed 
their husbands, fathers, and brothers in snug berths ; 
but of political influence they have wielded none — 
always with the exception of the Duchesse de Magenta 
just named. They have been on the pirate ship and 
shared in the spoils and booty ; but they had to keep 
their hands off the helm ; they have not been allowed to 
shape its course. When Mme. Thiers died, an ama- 
teur, who was curious in such matters, offered a com- 
paratively large sum for one of her autograph letters, or 
for one of her sister. Mile. Dosne, written during the 
life of Adolphe Thiers. His main object was to discover 
whether the wife or the sister-in-law, his almost insep- 
arable companions, had ever influenced his political 
actions in the slightest degree. Naturally, the dealers, 
having been put on their mettle, began their hunt, and 
after a fortnight our amateur received a visit from one 
of them, who informed him in a very important man- 
ner that he had discovered one of the desired docu- 
ments, which had already been sold during the states- 

14 



158 My Paris Note-Book. 

man's life to another amateur, who was, however, will- 
ing to part with it for a consideration. The dealer, 
though, was unable to enlighten him as to the nature of 
the epistle, but volunteered to put him in communica- 
tion with its owner. So said, so done. The latter re- 
plied most courteously to the request of the intending 
purchaser, and sent a copy of the note, which consisted 
of two Hues from Mile. Dosne to the baker : ' ' Monsieur, 
je vous prie de tenir dorenavant le pain que vous nous 
fournissez un peu plus cuit." I will return to Madame 
Thiers and Mile. Dosne by-and-bye, but I may state 
that the amateur never had a second offer of any kind. 
Madame Mac-Mahon had her moment of victory when 
she led the conjugal horse to the water — read the Elys6e 
— but she failed to make him drink out of the Legiti- 
mist pond. Of Madame Jules Grevy, it would be 
simply ridiculous to speak in connection with political 
influence ; and Grevy' s ' ' bosom friend' ' of many years' 
standing even before he was President of the Republic, 
if ever she had the slightest ambition to have a finger in 
the political pie, saw the futility of such an attempt so 
clearly that in sheer despair she arranged the marriage 
of her brother, Daniel Wilson, with Mile. Alice Gr€vy. 
The result of that union is written in letters, the reverse 
of gold, in the annals of the Third Republic (anno 
1887). And though Jules Gravy's eyes sparkled at the 
charm and fascination of the delighted Madame de 
Rainneville and the equally fascinating Comtesse d' Har- 
court, though he put his hand familiarly and even caress- 
ingly on their arms, and called them ''7nes belles en- 
fants,^^ '^ mes toules-delles,'^ and so forth, neither their 
charm nor their fascination had sufficient power over 
him to make him hold his hand when the decree expell- 
ing the Orleans princes had to be signed. 



My Paris Note-Book. 159 

Madame Jules Ferry, who is a mild Protestant, and a 
nice, liberal-minded woman, was unable to prevent her 
husband from framing and launching the edict against 
the religious congregations, which edict is better known 
to the general reader as 'T Article 7." Madame de 
Freycinet, more austere in her Protestantism, and per- 
haps not quite so nice, but sensible withal, failed to per- 
suade her spouse not to lend himself to proscription of 
any kind ; all she could accomplish was to extract a 
promise from him that he would confine his measure to 
the Jesuits only ; but when he proclaimed that decision 
at a political meeting at Montauban, the radical mob was 
nigh tearing him to pieces, and in spite of his wife im- 
ploring him to hold firm, to ''enact the man," to leave 
the Jesuits alone as well as the rest, he resigned and 
gave M. Ferry a free hand. Mile, de Freycinet, a 
most accomplished girl, who was for some years her 
father's private secretary, had become very intimate at 
the Prince von Hohenlohe's, and sincerely attached to 
Fraulein von Hohenlohe, the ambassador's daughter. 
It was even whispered — with how much truth I am not 
in a position to say — that a marriage was contemplated 
between the minister's daughter and the ambassador's 
son. That was enough for a good many of M. de Frey- 
cinet' s colleagues and their henchmen. They began to 
throw out hints that all this aristocratic commerce was 
foreign to the spirit of true Republicanism ; that if 
parents were bent upon patrician husbands or wives for 
their children, they should not accept dignities and 
emoluments in a democracy, and so forth. I have 
already said that the rumours with regard to the alliance 
may have been utterly without foundation ; the friendship 
between the two young girls was, however, an ascer- 
tained fact, and what was perhaps more to the point, M. 



i6o My Paris Note-Book. 

de Freycinet was at the time the only Republican min- 
ister who, by his courtesy and distinguished manners, 
had become an unquestionable favourite with the corps 
diplomatique. M. Flourens has been one of his worthy 
successors in that respect. I know — not from hearsay — 
that Mgr. de Rende, the present Bishop of Perugia, and 
perhaps the coming Pope, devoted an hour weekly to a 
mere friendly call on M. de Freycinet, and that Prince 
von Hohenlohe paid him frequent visits. I know, fur- 
thermore, that in consequence of the cordial relations 
between the two fathers, if not between the two daugh- 
ters, some difficult negotiations had been carried on in 
Berlin with satisfactory results to both Governments. 
Well, this very fact was made a weapon against M. de 
Freycinet, and especially against the rumoured marriage 
which, I repeat once more, may have been at the outset 
a pure invention on the part of some more than usually 
imaginative gossiper. Anyhow, the mere rumour was 
treated as an almost accomplished fact, and produced a 
formidable, albeit carefully hidden, ferment within min- 
isterial circles. The mildest adjective flung at it in 
serious comment was that it was ' ' unpatriotic. ' ' Less 
responsible critics went much further. They declared 
nearly openly that it should be prevented by all means, 
''because" — I heard the words myself—" Mile, de Frey- 
cinet, as the private secretary of her father, was in pos- 
session of secrets, notably relating to the plan for mobil- 
ising the French army, which in the flush of her first 
happiness she might voluntarily impart to her husband, 
or which the latter, in default of such voluntary state- 
ment, might succeed in 'worming' out of her." I 
hasten to add that the speaker was officially irresponsi- 
ble, but he was hand-in- glove with a half-dozen actual 
and past ministers, and I feel confident that the sentence 



My Paris Note-Book. i6i 

and the dastardly suspicion it implied were not of his own 
invention. 

The project, if it had any existence at all, came to 
nought, and the relations between Germany and France 
towards the latter end of Prince von Hohenlohe's stay 
in Paris became much more strained than they had been 
during the previous two or three years ; nor was M. de 
Freycinet's altogether the same towards Germany. In 
fact, the change was so apparent to me that I pointed it 
out in the columns of the paper I had the honour to 
represent at that period, saying, that * * la souris blanche' ' 
— the sobriquet generally applied to M. de Freycinet — 
* ' had become la souris rouge, ' ' The change may have 
commended itself to M. de Freycinet in order to disarm 
all further comment and distrust. 

I fancy I was right in saying that under the Third 
Republic the influence of woman in the affairs of State 
is nil. A Fillon under the Third Republic may organise 
a traffic in decorations and orders which will develop 
eventually into a * ' Caflarel scandal, ' ' and have its 
denouement in the Assize Courts ; she cannot raise a 
Dubois to an archbishopric ; there is no room for a 
Madame de Prie, a Madame de Chateauroux, or a 
Madame de Pompadour, least of all for a Madame de 
Polignac. If Boulanger had lived and undertaken the 
dreamt~of ''^revanche campaign" against Germany,^ we 
may be certain that no Madame de Bonnemain would 
have been allowed to send a map to his headquarters 
with the strategical positions marked by patches taken 
from her patch-box, as did Madame de Pompadour on 
one occasion. 

But in this witty France, where, in spite of the Salic 
law, woman has reigned and governed more efl"ectually 

» I will refer to this more fully by-and-bye. 
/ 14* 



1 62 My Paris Note-Book. 

than in any country with the exception of England — 
where her sex could hold the sceptre legally ; in this 
witty France, the history of which is studded with the 
clever doings of those exquisite drdlesses who henpecked 
kings, as with sparkling diamonds ; in this witty France, 
which has coined the proverb — " Ce que femme veuty 
Dieu le veut ;'' in this witty France, which can boast of 
a Joan d' Arc who led armies to victory, as well as con- 
demn an empress who impelled them to their ruin ; in 
this witty France, which numbers among her daughters 
a Marguerite de Valois as well as a Madame de Main- 
tenon, an Adelaide d' Orleans as well as a Du Barry, and 
among her adopted daughters a Catherine de M^dicis and 
a Duchesse de Berri — I am putting the good and evil 
geniuses together ; in this witty France, where, to say 
no more than that woman, until recently, enacted the 
part of the cotton-wool in a case of porcelain, that is, 
prevented the contents from being smashed ; in this 
witty France, woman, even the least intellectual, is re- 
luctant to abdicate voluntarily her sway. But when the 
most intellectual — and I have no hesitation in counting 
Madame Edmond Adam and even Louise Michel, 
fanatic and dHraquee as she may be, among the number 
— see that power dwindling to nothing, it is not very 
surprising that their less gifted sisters should fashion 
themselves a semblance of it, and cling to it desperately. 
With this preface, for which I heartily beg to apologise, 
I resume for a little while my observations at my friend's 
dinner-table. 

In the latter part of the eighteenth century a salon 
was, before everything, literary. Madame Geoifrin, 
that charming bourgeoise who did not believe in ghosts, 
but was afraid of them — the reverse of Dr. Johnson, 
who believed in the ghost of Cock Lane, but was not 



My Paris Note-Book. 163 

afraid of it — Madame Geoffrin, that charming bour- 
geoise who corresponded with most of the sovereigns 
of Europe, cared for nothing but Hterature, and hers is 
in reahty the most perfect salon on record, not even 
excluding that of the Hotel de Rambouillet. To Mad- 
ame Necker, that very unpleasant, politically pedantic 
Genevese woman, whom Carlyle has so skilfully drawn 
with a few words, belongs the credit — if credit it be — • 
of having invented the political salon^ for the women 
whom I mentioned but a few moments ago exercised 
their power without pretending to establish headquar- 
ters whence to issue instructions. Madame Necker had 
many imitators, notably Madame de Genlis, who ostra- 
cised Bernardin de Saint- Pierre to make room for Bris- 
sot and his friends. Brissot was one of the honest 
Republicans of 1789, and an able man besides, but just 
imagme putting the author of ' ' Paul et Virginie' ' out in 
the cold to make room for the originator of the Radical 
or Socialist dogma — " The possession of property means 
the commission of theft on the part of the proprietor 
thereof," for there is no doubt that Proudhon was in- 
spired by Brissot when he wrote that famous sentence. 

I soon discovered that my female fellow-guests had 
not an ounce of the brain of Mme. de Stael's mother, 
or of the former governess of Louis Philippe, but that, 
nevertheless, they each kept a salon whence everything 
but politics was banished, and where at critical political 
periods there was a kind of attempt at computing the 
number of * ' ayes' ' and ' ' noes' ' the bill of the hour 
was likely to obtain. That, it appears, was the chief 
raison (T etre of these salo?is. But they arrogated to 
themselves a rigorous control over the consciences of 
deputies. When one of these became lukewarm, or 
was suspected of a tendency that way, his entrance into 



i64 My Paris Note-BooK. 

the apartment was marked by a general and pettily or- 
ganised silence, accompanied by frowns on the part of 
the ladies — of which frowns I had a good sample pour 
rire. In the course of the conversation I made a re- 
mark to my neighbour at the table-r-the handsome 
woman — about the prettiness of one of the two sisters 
afore-mentioned. ''Yes, she is very pretty, but she 
can be very stern and forbidding when she is annoyed, ' ' 
was the answer. ' ' I should not have thought that so 
pretty a woman could look anything but pretty and 
sweet under no matter what circumstances," I pro- 
tested mildly, half in earnest, half in fun. ' ' Would 
you like a proof of what I say?" she asked. " I don't 
mind," I answered, for, after all, the good or bad 
temper of the lady in question was a matter of pro- 
found indifference to me, though on principle, perhaps, 
I would have done nothing to arouse the latter. 
"Well, then, listen and watch," she said. As a 
matter of course, there was no need to tell me twice, 
and after a few moments my neighbour raised her voice 
sufficiently to be heard across the table, and for that 
matter by every one present. *' Ma chere," she began, 
addressmg her vis-a-vis, "perhaps you, who know M. 
D. . . . better than most of us, will be able to tell us 
why he and M. Edouard Herv6 have met so often for 
the last week ?' ' That was all that was said ; but the 
lady thus addressed looked up, and the scowl on her 
face reminded me exactly of an ugly, badly-mended 
fracture in a Dresden china figure. I frankly confess 
that, easily "fetched" as I am by a pretty woman's 
smile, and little afraid of an ugly or pretty woman's 
sneers and superciHous stares, I should not have liked 
to confront that one in her ' ' tantrums. ' ' 

"That's how they all are," said my host, when next 



My Paris Note-Book. 165 

day I gave him the key to the little incident. ' ' My 
brother, who, you know from his past career, is by no 
means a coward, avers seriously that he would far 
sooner face a company of soldiers from the top of a 
barricade than enter a drawing-room with a dozen of 
those amiable creatures in it bent upon making him un- 
comfortable. On the other hand, when they are pleased, 
they are just as ready to show it. I have been at some 
of their gatherings when there happened to be among 
the guests a deputy who on that day or the day before 
had made a clever speech — or to speak by the card, a 
speech which the Republican papers had praised as 
clever, for these would-be critics, I mean the women, 
are absolutely incapable of discriminating between ster- 
ling and hollow cleverness — or a newly appointed min- 
ister or an ambassador. Well, my dear fellow, the 
most loving husband of the most loving wife on their 
honeymoon-trip is not so pampered or so idiotically 
worshipped and ' coddled' as such a guest. They don't 
take their eyes off him ; they arrange the pillows on 
the sofa by their side for him, as if he were made of the 
thinnest Venetian glass ; they offer him their scent- 
bottles, and their gossamer handkerchiefs to brush the 
moisture from his brow ; their fans are worked with the 
regularity of a punkah ; I have expected every minute 
that they would offer him a * shampoo' and a rub down 
with a coarse bath-towel. 'Just shut that window, 
please ; his Excellency is sitting in a draught. ' * Do 
open that door a trifle, please, his Excellency will faint 
with the heat.' In reality, they would not mind his 
Excellency fainting in their rooms, for it would give 
them a paragraph m the papers ; nay, the sudden death 
of one of these great little men would suit their book 
still better, for that would mean an article of at least a 



i66 My Paris Note-Book. 

column, and they would be less affected by the loss of 
the man himself than by the loss of their pet canary or 
pet dog. These women, my dear friend, never enter- 
tain angels unawares. 

* ' Of course, I need scarcely tell you, ' ' he went on, 
' * that there are never sufficient ' big pots' at the same 
time to go round, apart from the fact that some of the 
' big pots' of the last twelve or fourteen years are social 
savages, and absolutely refuse to be worried into being 
amiable in or out of the Chamber. Equally, as a matter 
of course, the greater the difficulty of catching such an 
one, the greater the glory to the catcher. There is 
only one exception in that respect ; he is never worried 
or badgered into going to ' receptions ;' he is severely 
left alone ; and that is Henri Brisson. One of these 
women, somewhat more epigrammatic than the rest, 
said that * receiving him' entailed too great an outlay of 
fuel ; for he positively chills the whole of the house the 
moment he sets his foot in it. The next * big catch' 
used to be M. Dufaure, who, during his periods of 
office, went to bed very late, got up at four, and worked 
like a nigger. He came out of his shell now and then 
— very rarely, though ; consequently his appearance in 
a salon ranked as an event. The men most in demand 
and cordially responsive to invitations are Edouard 
Lockroy and Charles Floquet. Lockroy always was, 
still is, and will probably remain to the end of his days, 
a delightful companion. Success has smoothed many 
of the angles of Floquet' s character; he can be most 
amusing when he likes, and he generally does like. As 
a rule, however, these hostesses have to be content with 
the minor gods, and to fall back upon quantity rather 
than quality." 

All this was virtually a comment on the conversation 



My Paris Note-Book. 167 

of the previous night, which had nearly exclusively- 
borne on the delight of the ladies at the presence of one 
or more ministers at their dinner-table. 

''What a pity, chere amie," said a comely woman, 
who ought to have brought an action for libel against 
her face, for she looked clever ; * ' what a pity you were 
unable to dine with us, for we had the Ministre des 
Beaux- Arts. He was positively charming. ' ' 

'* Really?" drawled another, and by her tone I con- 
cluded that she had "something up her sleeve" — the 
expression is figurative, for there was not sufficient 
sleeve to conceal anything. ' ' Really ' ' 

* ' Yes, he was really charming. ' ' 

* ' I am not surprised, though ; he is nearly always 
charming. He was very charming at our dinner on 
Thursday ; but I could not pay him the attention I 
ought to have paid, for we had the Ministre de I ' Inte- 
rieur too." The blow had been admirably prepared 
and was as admirably delivered, for though, as I have 
said already, quantity has often to do duty for quality 
in the enumeration of ' ' distinguished' ' guests, both the 
quantity and quality enumerated by the last speaker 
were superior to those of her interlocutor ; there being 
ministers of the first and second water ; and in that 
particular set of which I am treating, a Minister of the 
Interior is to a Minister of Fine Arts, what in music a 
semi-breve is to a crochet. I might go further still, and 
say that to a hostess fond of social display, and bent 
upon showing her importance to the outer world, a 
Minister of the Interior is worth all the other ministers 
put together ; for the nature of his duties compels him 
to have * ' his finger on the pulse of France hourly, ' ' as 
the late M. Beule, who was Minister of the Interior 
himself, said one day. As a consequence, the telegrams 



i68 My Paris Note-Book. 

and reports from the provincial prefects and sub-prefects 
to the Place Beauveau never cease, and increase as the 
evening advances. They are, in the absence of the 
minister from his official residence, despatched to him 
by the mounted troopers of the municipal guard, and 
"that is where the sensation comes in." The sight of 
such a messenger outside a dwelling not only proclaims 
urbi et orbi the fact that the great man is "at meat 
within," but it secures the reverence of the concierge, 
who, to most Parisians, but especially to that class, is 
the " God Almighty viewing things from below," and 
whose testimony to the grandeur of the tenants must be 
as valuable to them as was the approval of that little 
waitress at the Aerated Bread Shop at the corner of 
Parliament Street, where canons and deans are wont to 
forgather for mid-day refreshment. She had not the 
remotest idea of their social status, but on my remark- 
ing that there were a great many sable-coated gentlemen 
in the place, she replied — " Oh, yes, they are very re- 
spectable and civil ; they never make a noise as some 
of the others do." "The others," I learnt subse- 
quently, were the jaunty clerks of the parliamentary 
agents and lawyers of the neighbourhood. 

France is the most monarchical country in the world, 
and now that her kings have disappeared, the people — 
from the highest to the lowest — fashion for themselves 
kinglets. Whether their names be Comte de Mun, 
Comte de Douville-Maillefeu, Gambetta, Rochefort, 
Boulanger, Paul Deroulede, Cllmenceau, or Blanqui, 
their tenure of the tinsel crown and sceptre is very pre- 
carious ; they are subject to proscription, obloquy, and 
martyrdom, like real kings. Proscription is, after all, 
the best thing that can happen to them, for it frequently 
saves them from obloquy, which is sure to come to 



My Paris Note-Book. 169 

them, if they show a dislike to frequently recurring 
martyrdom. ' ' Apres tout, papa ne pent pas se faire 
coffrer a chaque instant pour plaire a Montmartre et 
Belleville," said Rochefort's son one day a few years 
before his sad death. 

But for the time being the ' ' kinglet' ' is adulated as 
was no king in the feudal age, as is no English lord at a 
suburban dinner-party or ball. The lady who had ad- 
ministered the telling blow to her would-be social rival, 
sat still for a moment or so, then with a beaming face, 
she followed up her advantage. * ' Oui, ' ' she remarked, 
" nous avons eu M. le Ministre de I'lnterieur ; il a m^me 
admirablement din6. II a repris deux fois de la bisque. 
Deux fois, deux fois." Madame de S6vign6 chroni- 
cling the gastronomic feats of " Le Roi-Soleil ;" Herr 
Moritz Busch enumerating the viands despatched by 
Bismarck, were lukewarm in their enthusiasm com- 
pared to that lady. But the minister in question not 
being, perhaps, such a formidable trencherman as the 
great king or the great chancellor, the fact of taking 
* ' bisque^ ' twice acquired additional importance. 

These are some of the would-be imitators of the 
woman who — excepting Louise Michel — is the only one 
among those of the Third Republic worthy of serious 
consideration — I mean from a political point of view. 
It is an open secret, at any rate in France, that Gam- 
betta, who intellectually towered a head and shoulders 
above any of his successors, proved refractory to the 
attempt to influence him, though the means employed 
thereto are probably not so well known, even in France. 
I may, if space permits, come back to the subject. I 
intend to state facts, authenticated facts, and not to be 
beguiled into comment. For the present, I will confine 
myself to asking a simple question which may already 



lyo My Paris Note-Book. 

have presented itself to the reader's mind, and en- 
deavour to supply its answer — of course, according to 
my own lights. 

This is probably the first time that we witness in 
France the spectacle of politics without the influence of 
woman. What is the cause of this new departure? 
One is bound to admit that a monarchy, especially in 
France, is more favourable than a republic to the influ- 
ence of woman in the aflairs of State ; but the First 
Repubhc had its remarkable women, not all as great as 
Madame Roland, but remarkable, nevertheless, and 
women with whom some of its leaders did not disdain 
to confer. Then why this startling diflerence under the 
Third Republic, though truth compels one to add that 
the diflerence was already visible under the Second 
Republic. 

The reason is simply this. The majority of the men 
who have jumped or been pitch-forked into power by a 
blatant democracy or by the pusillanimity of the bour- 
geoisie, aided by the wilfully impotent recriminations of 
a physically decadent and morally and mentally stagnant 
aristocracy — these men, whether they like it or not, do 
not belong to the class whence, in former days, minis- 
ters, ambassadors, and dignitaries were recruited. They 
may have received the same education, but their home 
surroundings are diflerent. The lower middle class, 
whence they sprang, is the least susceptible to the 
refined fascination of woman's wit and charms. Of 
course, there are exceptions in this case, just as there 
were exceptions in the other — that is, all the ministers, 
&c. , of the Third Republic do not necessarily belong to 
the lower middle classes, any more than all the minis- 
ters, &c. , of the First Empire, the Restoration, and 
the monarchy of Louis Philippe sprang from the upper 



My Paris Note-Book. 171 

middle classes. For instance, Corbiere, who rose to 
high dignities under the last two Bourbons, was the son 
of a poor Breton peasant woman, but the feeling with 
regard to the choice of ministers and leaders was such 
that Corbiere' s mother, on receiving the tidings of his 
nomination, exclaimed — *'My son a minister? Is the 
Revolution not at an end, then?" As a contrast to 
this I may recite the remark of Gambetta's father at the 
period when his son was President of the Chamber, and 
when he saw him pass between the two rows of soldiers, 
who presented arms while the drums were beating. 
' ' Tant mieux, ' ' said the old grocer from Cahors ; " it 
appears that L^on has tumbled into a very good berth. 
I trust he may keep it and save money." He had no 
notion of the dignity of the position, he only saw the 
material benefits accruing from it. He reminds me of 
the Polish Jewish soldier to whom Skobeleff on the eve 
of Plevna offered the choice between a hundred roubles 
and the Cross of St. George for having saved his life. 
' * The Cross of St. George, the Cross of St. George, ' ' 
said the young man; "what is it worth, the Cross of 
St. George ?" * * My good fellow, it is not for the worth 
of the thing, but for the honour, that I offer it to you. 
The Cross itself is worth no more than five roubles." 
*'In that case," came the answer, 'Til have the Cross 
of St. George and ninety-five roubles." 

Corbiere was, however, not the only one who from 
lowly beginnings rose to eminence in the State during 
the first six or seven decades of the century. The 
Thouvenels, Billaults, Magnes, had no greater ad- 
vantages at the outset of their lives than the other. 
Magne, who was the son of poor artisans, won his pro- 
motion as a statesman step by step ; his great capabili- 
ties in financial matters were admitted even by his adver- 



172 My Paris Note-Book. 

sarles, his sterling honesty did the rest. When he had 
reached the pinnacle of power he took a kind of pride 
in showing his friends the rough-hewn stone table on 
which, as a child, he had conned his lessons and writ- 
ten his exercises. It is due to the memory of Napoleon 
III. to say that he recognised merit, and enlisted it 
wherever he found it. But, I repeat, all these men had 
not only served their apprenticeship to the State in sub- 
ordinate capacities, but that apprenticeship, with its con- 
comitant contact with polite society, had transformed 
them into * ' men of the world ' ' of refined habits and 
manners ; it had, above all, taught them tact ; they 
were more respectful in dealing with the leaders of the 
Opposition than the present leaders are in dealing with 
their own followers ; consequently, the Opposition was 
prouder of the ministers it combated than is the present 
majority of the ministers it supports. Their attitude 
towards women was altogether different from what it 
has become. There was far less empressement towards 
them in public, but a more intelligent understanding of 
the feeling that caused them to fill the galleries of the 
Palais-Bourbon and the salle des stances over the Cour 
de Caulaincourt — ^where the Imperial stables were situ- 
ated — at the Tuileries. In one word, the politicians of 
to-day do not look upon woman nor love her as did the 
statesmen of old. They feel a certain restraint in her 
society, and as a consequence, fail to please and amuse 
her, even if they would take pains to that effect, which 
they do not take. When one of my fellow-guests laid 
such stress upon the fact of the Ministre des Beaux- Arts 
having been so charming at her dinner-table, a more 
logical mind than mine might have concluded that the 
ministre was not amiable every day of the week or at 
every entertainment, notwithstanding the testimony of 



My Paris Note-Book. 173 

the second speaker, to which, Hke Falstaff's tailor, he 
might have required more unimpeachable guarantee. I 
wish to point out that I am not deahng just now with 
women who are on the fringe of RepubUcan society, but 
with those who are, as it were, the ornamental pattern 
interwoven with its fabric. To all intents and purposes 
they are gra7ides dames de par le monde — le monde re- 
publicain, if you will ; and whatsoever ' ' Brantom- 
esque" traits they may be possessed of, they never 
degenerate into '' Zolaesque," as far as the outer world 
is enabled to judge. Their intellectual qualities are not 
of a very high order, but as the Duchesse de Chev- 
reuse said of her diamonds when Napoleon I. asked 
her if they were all real — ''They are not, but they are 
good enough for here. ' ' 

Well, with very few exceptions, the politicians of to- 
day — it would be idle to call them statesmen — prefer 
the ''Zolaesque." At the age when the young man, 
however studious and hardworking, gives the greater 
part of his thoughts and heart to a woman or to 
women, the sprouting politician is compelled to reserve 
his soul, his thoughts, his ardour, for the all-absorbing 
career he pursues. He lives amidst a pushing, jostling, 
and unscrupulous crowd, which frequently works and 
vociferates itself into a semi-lunatic condition. Ever 
and anon there is an almost literal interpretation of the 
motto, * ' Each one for himself, and the devil take the 
hindmost. ' ' At such times he is compelled to watch every 
movement while carefully directing his own steps, lest 
by slackening his pace he should become the prey of 
the evil one, or by stumbling have the political life 
trampled out of him. He must be for ever on the 
alert ; he must not be diverted for a single moment 
from the path along which he is tearing at a breakneck 

15* 



174 ^Y Paris Note-Book. 

speed ; least of all must he take his eyes off the goal— • 
the winning-post from which is suspended a portfolio 
with the figures " 60,000 francs " inscribed on it. Any- 
body or anything calculated to obstruct his view of, or 
his progress towards it, must be ruthlessly swept out of 
the way, were it the handsomest and most seductive 
woman ever created. Nay, he knows at the very out- 
set that whatever consideration he may or would dis- 
play to any other obstacle, human or otherwise, he 
cannot or dare not display it to woman ; for to be 
diverted from his pursuit by her means absolute perdi- 
tion from his point of view. But as, notwithstanding 
the hard and fast lines of his carefully drawn-up pro- 
gramme, he is not altogether without a spark of chivalry 
towards her, he warns her off the course to be traversed 
beforehand ; she may stand at the ropes as a spectator 
if she likes — that is a matter of supreme indifference to 
him. ' ' And if I love thee, what is that to thee ?' ' 
says the King to Goethe's " Iphigenia." The politician 
boldly reverses the line. ' * And if thou lovest me, 
what is that to me?" he asks. He is not more chaste 
than his fellow men, perhaps less. He has got all the 
sexual appetite of the others, but he grudges himself 
the time to sit down at the carefully appointed board 
and to enjoy an artistically prepared menu. When his 
hunger gets too much for him, he gorges, and in hot 
haste too. He reminds one of the traveller who at each 
stoppage of the express rushes to the refreshment bar 
and devours any and everything that he can lay hold 
of; flings down a gold piece at the very moment the 
guard's whistle sounds, without being able to wait for 
the change — for our politician pays heavily for those 
hurried crammings ; risks a succession of fits of indi- 
gestion ; and at the end of his journey is incapable of 



^1 



My Paris Note-Book. 175 

doing justice to the excellent fare prepared for him. 
The latter of my poor metaphor is not so extravagant 
as it may seem, for there comes a time and tide in the 
affairs of the politician when he is accounted ' * a good 
match," and, as such, introduced to a well-to-do and 
important Republican family, ayant tine demoiselle a 
marier^ a sweet and practically innocent girl, une bonne 
botiche, fit for a king ; to whom, before marriage, he is 
not unlike young Marlow to ' ' women of reputation and 
virtue, ' ' while after marriage . . . well ; we all know 
that Byron said — "What one man neglects, another 
picks up," and need not insist upon the consequences. 
If his health hold out, he may continue to be a gros 
mangeur — au restaurant ; he'll noYQYhQd. Jin gourmet. 
Gambetta had a notion of the fate in store for such men, 
and persistently refused to marry. " Je ne tiens pas a 
6cailler les huitres, pour les voir avalees pa les autres, ' ' 
he said on one occasion when hardly pressed to become 
a Benedick. As for dwelling upon his own aspirations 
with the goddess de rencontre, the passing caprice of a 
more refined category, the mattresse en titre, the sweet 
fiancee, or even the legitimate spouse, the politician 
has no time for it. In his love afiairs (?) he has all the 
brutality of the First Napoleon without his genius. 



176 My Paris Note-Book. 



CHAPTER VIII. 

Round about the Palais-Bourbon — The Salle des Pas-Perdus — 
M. Adolphe Ranc — Actors and critics — The editor of Le Matin — 
M. Arthur Meyer of Z^ Gaulois — M. Edouard Herve oi Le Soleil 
— An anecdote of the Due de Noailles— M. Ribot— M. Clemenceau 
— An anecdote of Gambetta in the heydey of his popularity — An 
anecdote of King Christian IX.— M. Henri Brisson— M. Goblet- 
Some late ambassadors — A hint to future historians— The Presi- 
dent of the Chamber — The President's bell. 

And now let us glance at some of these men enacting 
the play — the farce, if you will — of shaping the destinies 
of France, at the Palais-Bourbon, the erstwhile residence 
of the illegitimate daughter of Louis XIV. and Madame 
de Montespan, of the Mademoiselle de Nantes of Saint- 
Simon' s ''Memoires," the widow of that mischievous 
dwarf, Louis, third Due de Bourbon-Cond^, the small- 
minded and small-bodied son of the great Cond^. 

The prologue to the play, which is enacted in the 
Salle des Pas-Perdus, officially the Salle de la Paix, is 
often more amusing than the play itself, especially to 
those on whom the strutting and posing of some of the 
actors produces as much effect as would a Bramah latch- 
key on the lock of a feudal castle ; so let us linger for a 
little while in the Salle des Pas-Perdus. 

Here is an actor who neither struts nor poses, but 
who, without being a great man, according to the gospel 
of greatness preached to-day, is profitable company, take 
him whatever way you will — an actor who has stead- 
fastly refused to assume a principal part — an actor who 



My Paris Note-Book. 177 

has never claimed more than the daily hire of which the 
humblest labourer is said to be worthy — who has been 
much maligned when the mere ''mummers" were ap- 
plauded — who has never played for effect, though his 
real patrons were always the ' ' gods' ' and the ' ' ground- 
lings" — an actor with whose part I have no sympathy, 
but whom I cannot help respecting for the unselfish 
manner in which he conceived and rendered it. He is 
not much to look at, this Adolphe Ranc, who said to 
Mr. (afterwards Sir) Richard Wallace when the latter 
handed him the first monthly instalment of 10,000 francs 
for the poor of Paris during the siege — ''Monsieur, if 
there were many aristocrats like you, there would be 
need of fewer Republicans like myself." There is 
nothing very remarkable about him except his some- 
what careless dress ; the black beard, largely streaked 
with grey, is allowed to run more or less wild ; there is 
a noteworthy absence of that white shirt-front, the 
presence of which always distinguishes the well-to-do 
Frenchman ; and yet, in spite of all this, in spite of his 
unbending radical opinions, of his share in the doings 
of the Commune, or just because of them — for I do not 
happen to get my opinions from the glib leader-writers 
on one side or the other — I would sooner trust my honour 
and my life in an emergency — property I have none ; if 
I had, I would trust that, too — to Adolphe Ranc, than 
to most of the men who profess to look upon him as a 
firebrand. All the others, or nearly all, are actuated 
by their wants and material appetites. I have known 
Adolphe Ranc for nearly thirty years ; I caught my 
first glimpse of him at the Caf6 de Madrid when I was 
twenty ; and I feel confident that he has never com- 
mitted a shabby or dishonourable act, politically or 
otherwise ; and that he has never bartered his convic- 



178 My Paris Note-Book. 

tions for money or advancement, though he has been 
tempted, not once, but a dozen times. 

In this green-room, for the Salle des Pas-Perdus is 
virtually that, the critics forgather in large numbers. 
Some are critics and actors in one, like MM. Paul de 
Cassagnac, Henri Maret, Georges Clemenceau, Joseph 
Reinach, Camille Pelletan, and three or four others. 
They are neither the worst critics nor the worst actors, 
and preferable by far to the critics ' ' pure and simple' ' 
whether they are the editors of the papers they represent 
or not. Here is one of the editor-critics, M. Edwards 
of Le MatiUy a tall, stylish-looking man, whose semi- 
English origin is mainly shown in his appearance, for he 
rarely misses an opportunity of saying something dis- 
agreeable about his father's native land. He is con- 
versing with M. Ranc, or rather he is talking to him, 
for M. Ranc listens more often than he speaks. The 
physical and sumptuary contrast between these two is 
somewhat startling — not so startling, though, as the 
mental and moral contrast if everything were known. 
M. Ranc is ''peuple,^' as La Bruyere has it ; M. Edwards 
would be aristocratic ; the one's heart is decidedly in the 
right place ; the other's, after prompting him to be the 
henchman of M. Corn61y, the most uncompromising 
champion of sovereign power by right divine, suddenly 
caused him to drift into political eclectism, as represented 
by Le Matin ; M. Ranc clings frantically to that sup- 
posed lightning-conductor "constitutional radicalism," 
in order to avert another crash of anarchy ; M, Edwards 
is astride on that weather-cock "liberal journalism," 
and fancies himself in an observatory. 

M. Edwards "patronises" the Republic as the natty 
little man a few yards away from him "patronises" the 
Constitutional Monarchy and the Comte de Paris, whose 



My Paris Note-Book. 179 

staunchest follower he proclaims himself to be. I 
never meet M. Arthur Meyer, diredeur- of Le Gaulois, 
whether it be at Sheen House, Bignon's — where M. 
Meyer lunches and dines nearly every day when his 
social engagements allow him, and where I dine only 
when I am taken — or in the Salle des Pas-Perdus, 
without being reminded of that scene at Wigan between 
a collier and a street preacher. The latter was holding 
forth, dealing out death, destruction, and perdition after 
the manner of the clergy of old, to all those who refused 
to believe in his doctrines, when the former interrupted 
him — " Who art thou, my man, as talk' st in that way ?" 
he asked. " I am an humble follower of Christ," was 
the reply. * ' Art thou ? Well, if a' d been Christ, and 
thou'dst followed me, a'd ha' stoned thee." However, 
there is no knowing what may happen, in spite of the 
Duke de Broglie's exclamation when he heard of t>he 
death of the Prince Imperial — " The Republic has the 
luck of it ; the Comte de Paris is alive, and the Prince 
Imperial is dead." And after all, it was an ass that 
carried Christ into Jerusalem. 

That ''Apollo all but the head" fights on the same 
side with M. Meyer ; but how differently ! It is M. 
Edouard Herv6, the editor of Le Soleily the Conserva- 
tive candidate for Paris, who in the general election of 
1885 managed to secure 140,000 votes — not sufficient, 
however, to carry him to the Chamber. He is one of 
the two journalists on whom was conferred the honour 
of membership by the Academic,* where he occupies 
the chair of the late Due de Noailles, between whom 

* The other was M. John Lemoinne, the editor of the Journal des 
Debats, who at the very hour I write has been succeeded by M. 
Ferdinand Brunetiere, the editor of La Revue des Deux-Mondes. 
Prevost Paradol does not count from my point of view. He owed 
his election to the influence of Napoleon III. 



i8o My Paris Note-Book. 

and his successor there exists a curious trait of political 
resemblance. One evening in the early part of August 
1830, the young and recently married nobleman was 
seatedwith his wife at the Chateau de Maintenon, which 
has become so solitary since. The young couple, not- 
withstanding their married happiness, were anxious in- 
deed ; they were waiting for tidings of that sudden and 
unforeseen revolution which was to shatter so many 
hopes to the ground. All at once the rumbling sound 
of several carriages was heard. They were evidently 
advancing slowly, those conveyances, more like those 
forming part of a funeral procession than those of ordi- 
nary travellers eager to reach their destination. It was, 
in fact, a funeral procession, the funeral of the ' ' sover- 
eign right divine, ' ' for in another moment Charles X. , 
almost bent double with fatigue and grief, entered the 
great hall, and a little later the Due and Duchesse de 
Noailles were listening reverently to the last instructions 
— as far as the Duke was concerned — of the last Bour- 
bon King. Next morning the Duke was politically 
free, and he remained free up to the day of his death, 
which enabled him to render some service to his coun- 
try during the monarchy of Louis Philippe and under 
the Third Republic. During the Second Empire he 
retired from public life ; but I am under the impression, 
in fact, have been as good as told by the informant to 
whom I owe the above story, that this retirement was 
due to his personal dislike of an exalted personage dan- 
gerously near to the throne, and not to a want of sym- 
pathy with the sovereign or his aspirations. As my 
portrait-gallery does not include a sketch of the Due de 
Noailles, whom I saw only once in my life, I need not 
insist upon this, and may return to M. Herv6, who, as I 
have said, has for several years already acted some- 



My Paris Note-Book. i8i 

what like his predecessor in the Acad^mie chair. He 
has, without reHnquishing his well-known allegiance 
to the House of Orleans, endeavoured to serve his 
country within the measure of his abilities, which are 
very great indeed. His predecessor's sons are acting 
in the same manner, or at any rate were doing so a few 
years ago. But they served their country without for- 
feiting their liberty of conscience, awaiting better days 
perhaps. Here is an anecdote which will perhaps more 
fully illustrate my meaning. A brilliant general who is 
at the same time an accomplished gentleman, and the 
bearer of an historic name, was talking to a friend. 
The latter said, ''You are remaining in the army in 
spite of everything ; you whose place is on the steps of 
the throne." "The steps of the throne?" was the an- 
swer. "Well, I am on the steps of the throne. I am 
waiting. The one who is not in his place is not I." 
That was what the Due de Noailles thought, albeit that 
he did not give utterance to his thoughts. That is what 
his sons think ; that is what M. Herve, this truly grand 
seigneur of journalism thinks. Chateaubriand said — 
* * I have often driven with a golden bridle a pair of old 
crocks of reminiscences which I fondly imagined to be 
a pair of spirited three-year-old hopes. ' ' M. Edouard 
Herv€ does not fall into that error. His cattle, whatever 
they be, are young ; he has not thought fit to drape 
himself, in his faithful adherence to the House of Or- 
leans, either in a shroud or in motley. 

M. Ribot, who is just passing by, has gone a step 
further, and frankly rallied to the Republic. One 
might easily mistake him for a grandson of Louis- 
Philippe, for there is a striking likeness between him 
and the Due de Nemours when the latter was young, 
albeit that the late Premier himself is turning grey. I 



i82 My Paris Note-Book. 

happened to be in the Salle des Pas-Perdus on the day 
of his d^but as President of the Council, and could not 
help thinking that no man had ever waited more pa- 
tiently for his chance than he. He is one of the few- 
men who are not afraid of M. C16menceau. The strug- 
gle between these two is inevitable. It will be terrible, 
though not long ; for whatever may happen, the dis- 
ciple of M. Dufaure will fight fair, and I should not like 
to pledge myself to the same extent with regard to the 
Radical deputy's tactics. One thing is, however, cer- 
tain — whenever M. Ribot fights a pitched battle, and 
not an outpost afiair like that of the beginning of last 
year — and happens to be worsted, he will fall fighting, 
and probably like a thorough-bred — that is, never to 
rise again, while all the other ministers since the real 
advent of the Third Republic (by which I mean the 
election of M. Grevy to the Presidency) have simply 
fallen like so many cab-horses, to be on their legs again 
in so many minutes. From this wholesale statement I 
do not even exclude the late M. Jules Ferry ; but I am not 
concerned with the dead at present, but with the living. 
I said just now that M. Ribot has patiently awaited 
his chance, so patiently, in fact, as to make the Estan- 
celirs, the Bochers, the Haussonvilles, and even the 
royal tenants of Stowe themselves, wonder whether he 
might not be waiting for them. If at any period of his 
political career M. Ribot intended to throw in his lot 
with the Orleanists, such intentions must have received 
their death-blow long ago at the hands of the very 
head of the illustrious family, and M. Ribot said, no 
doubt mentally, what Rivarol wrote to Louis XVI. — 
*' Vous n'avez pas voulu ^tre mon roi, je ne veux plus 
itre votre sujet." M. Ribot is made of very stern 
stuff, by which I do not mean that he is ' ' starched' * 



My Paris Note-Book. 183 

like the erstwhile Ambassador to England and actual 
President of the Senate, M. Challemel-Lacour, or the 
late Jules Ferry. On the contrary, M. Ribot is most 
courteous and agreeable, even to the merest casual ac- 
quaintance ; but he towers mentally a head and shoul- 
ders above the majority of the men in power, and that 
is a decided disadvantage, especially if the mental 
superiority be allied to unbending honesty, under a 
regime which would fain make us believe that "/« 
carriere est ouverte aux talents'^ ("the tools to those 
who can use them," as Carlyle translated it), but which 
(the regime) has until now proved by its every action 
that its borrowed motto is a lie, and that any man of 
great talent, let alone of genius, is sure to find the 
ground * * spiked' ' by the mediocrities, apprehensive of 
losing their emoluments. Though not particularly apt 
at, or fond of prophesying, I would not hesitate to pre- 
dict the future of a good many of these mediocrities ; 
I should not like to commit myself with regard to M. 
Ribot. In the country of the blind the one-eyed is 
king ; but the two-eyed would most likely be regarded 
as a monster and suffer martyrdom. 

Seeing that M. C16menceau's name has cropped up 
incidentally under my pen, I may just as well sketch 
him as he stands with his back against the reproduction 
of the " Laocoon," which has given rise to so many bad 
jokes. Englishmen ought to be particularly interested 
in M. Clemenceau ; but for him England's position in 
Egypt would not be what it is, for it was he who over- 
threw the Freycinet Ministry on the question of joint 
action. M. Clemenceau warned France not to be made 
England's cat's paw the second time ; the Crimean 
War having furnished the first occasion, &c. , &c. M. 
Clemenceau is, moreover, the idol of the English Radi- 



184 My Paris Note-Book. 

cals, who never fail to pay him a visit during their trips 
to Paris, visits the honour of which is not, perhaps, so 
greatly appreciated as they imagine. I have quoted 
elsewhere the remark of M. Edouard Herv6, to the 
effect that beneath every French aristocrat there lurks a 
democrat. M. Clemence'au, though belonging to a 
very honourable Vendean family, is decidedly not an 
aristocrat by birth, and it is probably on account of this 
that I and a good many qui ne se paient pas de mots 
fail to find the real democrat behind the professed one. 
He is overbearing to his inferiors, and superciliously 
polite to his superiors — for M. Clemenceau has supe- 
riors, mentally, morally, and socially, in and out of the 
Chambers, and the very fact of his not adopting the 
same tone with every one proves that he himself has 
an uncomfortable suspicion of that superiority. But he 
has not his equal in or out of the Chamber — I am 
almost tempted to say in any European Assembly, as a 
debater ; albeit that for the last thirteen years I have 
never heard him address the House for longer than ten 
minutes at a time. His style is to that of Gambetta as 
a flash of forked lightning to a prolonged thunder-clap. 
I no more believe in the sincerity of M. Clemenceau 
than Madame de Stael believed in that of Mirabeau ; I 
have, moreover, no sympathy with the legislation M. 
C16menceau affects, apart from the question of the sin- 
cerity or the reverse of its advocate ; and of the value 
of M. Clemenceau' s sincerity I have as profound doubts 
as I have of the political regeneration of France since 
1 87 1. And yet I feel inclined every now and then to 
applaud him as frantically as Necker's daughter ap- 
plauded the great tribune more than a hundred years 
ago. Each sentence is like a sword thrust, when it is not 
a hot iron applied to quivering flesh. If I wished to con- 



My Paris Note-Book. 185 

tinue the metaphor, I mig-ht add that it produces a hissing 
sound from those at whom it is aimed. I have never 
met with a man calculated to impress one more at the 
first glance than M. Clemenceau ; but I am not quite 
certain — I am speaking for myself alone — whether the 
impression would last or be intensified if I were to be 
very long in his company. I lived for a long while 
within a quarter of a mile of M. C16menceau's place at 
Montmartre ; that is, I lived in the Avenue Trudaine 
and adjacent streets, which are within the boulevards 
excentriques, while his residence was beyond ; and I 
used to meet the ex-deputy frequently. I gradually got 
used to the extraordinary skull and features, which to 
describe scientifically would require a Gall and a Lavater 
combined. The skull especially would puzzle any one 
but a thoroughly capable phrenologist and osteologist ; 
it is, though apparently round like a bullet, full of 
knobs and ridges, while the features, but for the nose, 
are Mongolian, or Mongoloid- American would perhaps 
be a more correct term. But for that nose, the like of 
which I have only seen once before on a white man's 
face (on that of Fr6d6ric LemaJtre), one might mistake 
M. C16menceau for a cannibal, a very intelligent cannibal, 
but a cannibal for all that. Odd to relate, this powerful, 
almost phenomenal, debater winces at an epigram lev- 
elled at himself. 

In republicanism it is not the first but the last step 
which becomes most difficult. A man who has been for 
several years the idol of the most mischievous and tur- 
bulent section of the Paris population, finds it hard to 
realise that there can be people audacious enough to 
withstand his will on the plea that all men are equal. 
Rightly or wrongly, M. Clemenceau was for a consider- 
able while the idol of the proletariat ; but the worship 

16* 



1 86 My Paris Note-Book. 

brought its penalties to the idol. When Gambetta was 
at the height of his popularity, he went one day to one 
of the agricultural districts in the south of France to 
support a Republican candidate. As was his wont, he 
inquired after the farmers' wants, and was told that the 
country wanted rain. ' ' Rain, ' ' he said, in his jaunty, 
jovial manner ; ** well, I'll see about it when I get back to 
Paris ; I'll have a talk with the Minister of Agriculture 
and the Director of the Observatory. ' ' And these shrewd, 
but withal, simple-minded folk trusted in his implied 
promise to procure for them the much-needed downpour. 
This beats the story told by Dean Ramsay in his ' ' Rem- 
iniscences," of the Scotch minister who not only prayed 
for rain from the pulpit, but proceeded to give the Al- 
mighty directions as to the exact manner in which it 
should descend ; but I can vouch for the truth of what 
I state. About that same period I was walking down 
one of the side streets in the Chaussee de Clignancourt, 
when I heard a violent altercation between an old dame 
and a sergent de ville on account of the dust before her 
door. The former let the latter have it all his own way ; 
she gave her name and so forth; then she lifted her 
shrivelled arms to heaven. ' * Grand Dieu, grand Dieu !' * 
she exclaimed ; "si Gambetta savait seulement ce qui 
se passe ^ Paris. ' ' The Princess of Wales could proba- 
bly cap the last anecdote by relating a dozen similar 
ones about the times when she was a young girl, and 
when her father used to perambulate the poorer quarters 
of Copenhagen, accompanied by his two great danes. 
"Wait till King Christian comes by, and we'll ask him 
about it," was the usual exclamation when a conflict 
arose between the police and the humbler inhabitants. 
What was better still, His Majesty was never appealed 
to in vain, and, best of all, his decision was never ques- 



My Paris Note-Book. 187 

tioned, however much it might go against the appellant. 
Well, in the heyday of his success, M. C16menceau's 
name was as frequently invoked as that of Gambetta, 
and that of King Christian, and mostly by the Paris 
cabmen. Not once, but a score of times, have I had 
M. Clemenceau's name thrown in my teeth when in- 
scribing a complaint against an insolent Jehu in the reg- 
ister provided at every rank by the police ; for that is a 
thing they decidedly manage better in Paris than in 
London. One need not put up with bullying there un- 
less one likes. One is not bound to waste one's time 
by taking out a summons and losing a valuable day in 
court. An official appointed for the purpose settles 
such matters for the complainant, who is invited to at- 
tend only when the charge is denied. Under no cir- 
cumstances is the complainant called upon to provide 
cabby with a day's leisure and give him six shillings for 
doing nothing. Neither Gambetta nor Christian IX. 
was ever besieged by his idolaters as was M. Cl^men- 
ceau, who found them at last too numerous to be pleas- 
ant, for they came on the slightest pretext, in spite of 
the far from polite reception accorded to them. They 
did not mind it. It is wonderful what an amount of 
downright insolence the Republican artisan will bear 
from his favourite deputy, while he will scarcely allow 
his employer to remonstrate with him. The following 
may serve as an instance in point- M. Clemenceau was 
originally a doctor, and used to give gratuitous advice 
at certain hours of the day. In one respect, at any 
rate, M. Clemenceau was like Abernethy — he was rough 
and abrupt with his patients. One morning one of 
these entered his consulting-room. "Take off your 
coat, waistcoat, and shirt," said the physician as he went 
on writing, "I'll attend to you directly." Three 



1 88 My Paris Note-Book. 

minutes later, on looking up, he found the man stripped 
to the waist. * ' There is nothing the matter with you, ' ' 
said M. Clemenceau when he had examined him. ' ' I 
know there isn't." " Then what did you come for?" 
* ' To consult you on a political question. " * * Then what 
did you strip for?" "I thought you wanted an illus- 
tration of the emaciated body of the man who lives by 
the sweat of his brow. ' ' 

This must have been too much even for M. Clemen- 
ceau, for shortly afterwards he removed from Mont- 
martre. M. C16menceau, if I am not mistaken, went 
to the Quartier Marbceuf— or Marbeuf — but seven times 
out of ten your Radical deputy, after a little while, takes 
up his quarters in the Faubourg Saint- Germain. Of 
course the pretext is the short distance from the Palais- 
Bourbon ; the real reason is the considerable distance 
that divides the aristocratic quarter from the Faubourgs 
Saint-Antoine, Belleville, and M6nilmontant, the hot- 
beds of turbulent, restless demagogy. 

If we are to believe the late, though still living, Mad- 
ame Clemenceau, her erstwhile husband is the galantin 
of the Third Republic, as Barere was the galantin of 
the ' ' Terror. ' ' Barere said soft nothings to the fair pe- 
titioners that crowded his ante-chamber. He smiled on 
them ; promised to look after their welfare ; pretended 
to be moved by their looks and tears ; and toyed with 
them as a kitten plays with a ball of knitting-wool. 
When on the evening of the 3rd September 1793, thirty- 
one actors and actresses of the Com^die-Frangaise were 
taken to prison en masse for having performed on the 
previous night an adaptation of Richardson's " Pamela" 
by Fran9ois de Neufch^teau, which displeased the Jacob- 
ins on account of the praise lavished on the English 
Government, and the moral maxims placed on the lips 



My Paris Note-Book. 189 

of Lords while the Duke of York was overrunning the 
territories of the Republic : when that wholesale incar- 
ceration took place, only three of the " enemies of the 
Republic' ' were released after three weeks ; the rest re- 
mained under lock and key for eleven months, in fact 
until after the death of Robespierre. One of the three 
fortunate comedians was our old acquaintance, Mile. 
Lange, of ' ' Madame Angot' ' notoriety. It was Barere's 
influence which opened the doors to her. M. Clemen- 
ceau has never had an opportunity of interceding for 
one of the fascinating actresses of the Comedie-Frangaise 
of to-day ; first of all, because recalcitrant actresses, 
whatever their offence, are no longer consigned to the 
Four-L'Ev^que, which house of detention itself has dis- 
appeared, or to other prisons ; secondly, because his 
favourite /r<?/^^^^ (who only died within the last month, ') 
though she managed to get her feet within the Comedie- 
Frangaise, never got those feet before the footlights. 
The engagement was duly signed and sealed, the salary 
was as duly paid, but the * ' lady' ' was never cast for a 
part. A similar thing had happened during the admin- 
istration of M. Emile Perrin, for the men of the Third 
Republic, who never cease to inveigh against the fa- 
vouritism and nepotism of the men of the Second Em- 
pire and its preceding regimes^ nevertheless do avail 
themselves of their positions to practise what they con- 
demned and condemn. When the first pensionnaire 
thus introduced, attempted, after months of weary wait- 
ing, to obtain her debuts, M. Perrin simply stared her in 
the face with that stony stare peculiarly his own. ' ' Made- 
moiselle, ' ' he said at last, ' ' vous 6tes entree ici par force ; 
d6butez par force. ' ' M. Jules Claretie, more suave than 
his predecessor, refrained from giving an ultimatum: he 
^ Written in February '94. 



igo My Paris Note-Book. 

merely tired the ' ' lady' ' out ; but the final result was 
the same, the ' ' lady' ' resigned her engagement. From 
all this it will be seen that the ' * Spartans' ' of the Third 
Republic, though they keep her carefully out of politics, 
have an eye for a pretty actress, as well as the * ' Spar- 
tans' ' of the ' ' Terror' ' and the Sybarites of the Direc- 
tory. M. C16menceau therefore need not deny his con- 
nection with the Com^die-Frangaise. '* Whatever hap- 
pens has happened before," even in the best regulated 
of republics. Gambetta, whose career bore more than 
an accidental likeness to Mirabeau's, disappeared from 
the scene, like Mirabeau, when the respective regimes 
were virtually very young, for, I repeat, the Third Re- 
public is not unlike a girl in her teens, who, by means of 
a long dress, would pretend to be older than she really 
is. Mirabeau' s death was accelerated, if not caused, by 
an imprudent supper party at Mile. Coulon's, the dan- 
seuse ; Gambetta' s death was attributed to a wound re- 
ceived accidentally in his attempt to wring from a lady 
the pistol with which she intended to kill herself. Mme. 
Leona L6vy may be, for all I know, dead, but I am not 
speaking without foundation. But neither Mirabeau nor 
Gambetta was ever influenced by a woman in the way 
I would suggest. Mile, de Nehra, if we judge by her 
diary only, was to the full as intelligent and accom- 
plished as Mme. Edmond Adam ; yet neither succeeded 
in making the men whom they would have fain inspired, 
swerve a hair's-breadth from their intended course. We 
can hear both men say mentally with Goethe — '^ Sie ist 
volkommen, und sie fehiet darin allein, dass sie mich 
liebt." 

I said just now that the ** Spartans" of the Third Re- 
public had an eye for a pretty actress. There are seve- 
ral to whom I would give the benefit of the doubt with 



My Paris Note-Book. 191 

regard to that accusation — if it be one — but M. Henri 
Brisson I would unhesitatingly acquit. M. Brisson is 
as chaste ' ^ by temperament' ' as was Robespierre, with- 
out being *'a libertine in imagination," like the latter. 
Such chastity on the part of such a magnificent speci- 
men of physical manhood — ^who is not bound by a 
vow to that effect — would be difficult to realise any- 
where ; in France it may be regarded as absolutely phe- 
nomenal. For as M. Brisson stands there talking to 
one of his former ministerial colleagues, one is bound 
to admit that it would be difficult to find a handsomer 
man in any country than the late President of the 
Panama Commission. The face is a pure oval, the 
nose and mouth are almost faultless, and the eyes 
expressive to a degree. M. Brisson is somewhat above 
the middle height, with a capitally proportioned frame ; 
he dresses very carefully ; somewhat sombrely, but 
probably in thorough keeping with his temperament. 
Allowing for the difference of attire, some of the Hebrew 
prophets must have looked like M. Brisson ; I feel cer- 
tain that they acted and spoke as he does ; and it will 
easily be admitted that these Hebrew gentlemen could 
not have been cheerful companions . in everyday Hfe. 
M. Brisson, like Mrs. Gummidge, is a **lone, lorn 
creature, ' ' and delights in his loneliness. He was, be- 
fore Gambetta took him up, a barrister, neither briefless 
nor prosperous. They still tell in and around the Palais 
de Justice an anecdote about Maitre Henri Brisson, for 
the whole truth of which I will not vouch ; it has no 
doubt been embellished, but the main fact actually oc- 
curred. In those days there was a President of one of 
the Courts who suffered terribly from insomnia, and the 
physicians prescribed their soporifics in vain. It so 
happened that Maitre Henri Brisson was counsel for the 



192 My Paris Note-Book. 

plaintiff in a case which, on the face of it, was a forlorn 
hope. His opponent was either Maitre Georges La- 
chaud senior, or Maitre Barboux, the same who was 
engaged lately in the Lesseps trial. I will not be certain 
which of these two it was, but he enjoyed the reputation 
of being a past master of oratorical skill and profound 
legal knowledge ; he was, in fact, a shining light of the 
French bar. He might have been the merest stagiaire 
for all the chance he had, for the President fell into a 
sound slumber while Maitre Brisson droned his drone, 
and never heard a word of the arguments for the de- 
fence. He only awoke when one of the assessors (puisne 
judge) nudged him in the side. In spite of the palpa- 
ble injustice, there was a judgment for the plaintiff. 
Henri Brisson, the gossips add, was offered an engage- 
ment as private reader to the judge, but the offer was 
declined. The judge was disappointed but not angry, 
and in the few cases in which the young barrister was 
subsequently engaged before him, never gave judgment 
against his clients. 

The latter part of the story, including the judge's 
offer of an engagement, I beg leave to doubt ; the 
former part I am inclined to believe Implicitly. During 
the five years it was my duty to attend the sittings of 
the Chamber on important occasions, and afterwards, 
during my periodical visits to Paris, I have heard M. 
Brisson speak at length, not once, but a couple of scores 
of times, and the result was invariably the same. I did 
not fall asleep like the judge ; I listened with the great- 
est attention, wondering all the while why sleep refused 
to come, seeing that three-fourths of my colleagues in 
''the Foreign Press Gallery" were indulging in fre- 
quently recurring ** forty winks." Those who kept 
bravely awake beside myself were mostly Germans and 



My Paris Note-Book. 193 

Austrians, with two or three Americans. The Germans 
and Austrians assured me that, compared to the bores 
to whom they had to hsten in their Reichsraths at home, 
M. Brisson was amusing. The Americans averred that 
they had had two or three years' training at St. Ste- 
phen's, where they had to put up with seats in the 
Strangers' Gallery, the British Parliament not providing 
accommodation for the representatives of foreign papers. 
At the outset of their apprenticeship they had endeav- 
oured to beguile their weariness by taking a newspaper 
or book from their pockets. The attendant had told 
them that reading was against the rules. Their only 
defence against drowsiness having been prohibited, they 
naturally yielded to it, but in that instance also were 
warned that sleeping was not allowed, and that repeated 
indulgence would entail expulsion. Seeing that part of 
their livelihood was at stake, they had become hard- 
ened : hardened enough, in fact, to be able to face 
Solomon Eagle himself were he to revisit the glimpses 
of the moon. 

On looking over what I have written, I feel inclined 
to scratch the whole of it out, for I candidly confess 
that were I to light upon a similar passage in any pub- 
lication short of a soi-disant comic one, I would be dis- 
posed to vote it trash, if not worse. And yet I can 
assure the reader that I have exaggerated nothing. 
There is not a single man in the Chamber of Deputies 
who does not view with dismay the attempt of M. Bris- 
son to get into the rostrum, for I may be permitted to 
point out that the moment a deputy looks like contem- 
plating a set speech, he is cheered, hooted, or some- 
times hounded to the tribune. A member rarely speaks 
from his seat, except to make a passing remark, and 
then only by the tacit goodwill of the House. As an 

\ n 17 



194 ^Y Paris Note-Book. 

Instance of the dread M. Brisson's oratory inspires, 
I may recount a personal anecdote. On the day of 
Victor Hugo's funeral I was among a serried group of 
deputies while MM. Auguste Vacquerie and Floquet 
delivered their funeral orations. M. Brisson was stand- 
ing a few paces off, and I asked a neighbour if M. Bris- 
son was not going to speak. ' ' Assuredly not, ' ' was 
the answer. "If he did, Saussier and all the officers 
of his staff would tumble off their horses, and the 
horses themselves would want waking afterwards. I 
believe Brisson intended to speak, but Floquet, to 
whom he read and rehearsed his speech, dissuaded 
him." "In what way?" I asked. "After he had 
done, Floquet said — * It is very fine; still, I am very 
sorry.' * What for?' asked Brisson, in a sepulchral 
voice. ' I could have wished that you had died, and 
that Victor Hugo had been deputed to eulogise your 
virtues.' " 

Frenchmen are apt to give the respectable bore in the 
tribune, however well intentioned that bore may be, a 
shorter shrift than our members at St. Stephen's ; they, 
the Frenchmen, will mercilessly shout him down, re- 
gardless of the amenities of debate, and demand la 
cldturey irrespective of the number of speakers who 
have asked to be heard ; and the President is bound to 
take the sense of the House on the demand. After 
that there is no possibility of opening the original ques- 
tion again ; the only resource of the minority is to speak 
against the motion by sending 07ie member to the tribune, 
for a second speech is not allowed. Well, notwithstand- 
ing the dismay his appearance in the tribune generally 
provokes, M. Brisson is almost invariably listened to 
with respectful silence, and only interrupted on questions 
of policy, or because he rubs an adversary the wrong 



My Paris Note-Book. 195 

way, and not on account of his ponderous style. 
Whence this exceptional tolerance of the Chamber with 
regard to him ? 

Because even his most determined adversaries admit 
the integrity of the man, his sterling character, his 
superiority to most of the RepubHcans around him. 
That alone is sufficient to single him out from the rest, 
and his opponents' abstention from all gratuitous inter- 
ruption is, as it were, a tribute to his sullen but dis- 
tinctly genuine honesty, which seems to be wholly out 
of keeping with the political tactics practised in the 
latter end of the nineteenth century. M. Brisson is 
regarded as a Republican modelled after the antique 
pattern, inflexible with regard to principles, self-inocu- 
lated against the prevailing contagion, proof against 
corruption, in short, a modern Cato and Brutus rolled 
into one, ' ' probably, ' ' as some one said, ' ' because 
there was not sufficient material among the latter-day 
would-be saviours of France to make two men of that 
stamp. ' ' 

Unfortunately, the moral has its reverse. All these 
sterUng qualities are rendered useless as far as the wel- 
fare of France is concerned, for the want of a little 
amiability and tolerance, by the absolute dislike to cakes 
and ale which in M. Brisson' s opinion should mark the 
sincere Republican. M. de Montespan thought fit to 
wear perpetual mourning for that wife of his, though she 
was ' ' very much alive, ' ' as Louis XIV. could have tes- 
tified. I cannot understand why M. Brisson should be 
wearing perpetual mourning in his looks, gait, and de- 
meanour for the Third Republic, which, after all, has 
done him no injury, and is not likely to fling itself into 
the arms of either Prince Victor or the Comte de Paris. 
From being an obscure though respected barrister, he 



196 My Paris Note-Book. 

became, thanks to that Third RepubUc, a President of 
the Chamber, a Prime Minister, and, but for his own 
fault, would have become the Chief Magistrate of France. 
I repeat, but for his own fault, for odd, or perhaps most 
natural to relate, in that apparently frivolous Paris, which 
in overwhelming numbers made M. Edouard Lockroy 
her ** first deputy," there was a large substratum of 
serious-minded men — by no means all Jacobins — who 
elected to pin their faith on the less attractive but more 
sterling qualities of M. Brisson when in 1887 the reve- 
lations inculpating his son-in-law in the ' ' Caffarel scan- 
dal" compelled M. Jules Gr^vy to resign his functions, 
M. Brisson stood practically and theoretically a fairer 
chance of being elected to the Presidential chair than 
M. Sadi Carnot. But those senators and deputies who 
* ' know their Paris, ' ' and there are a goodly number, 
were virtually afraid to carry so austere a Republican to 
the Elys6e-Bourbon, and they communicated their fears 
to those who did not ' ' know their Paris. ' ' Republican 
austerity is very well in theory ; the man who would 
carry it out at the Elys^e-Bourbon by utterly abstaining 
from giving fetes and entertainments would not only 
arouse the laughter — and the contemptuous laughter — 
of the whole of Paris, but, what is worse, her ire. ' ' The 
Parisian must show his teeth ; he must either growl or 
laugh," said Victor Hugo, and if M. Brisson had been 
** enthroned" in the Faubourg Saint- Honor6, the 
Parisians would not have left off growling until M. 
Brisson had resigned, for M. Brisson, they knew, would 
have assuredly resigned sooner than tolerate the sound 
of minstrelsy and watch the twinkling of merry feet 
under the same roof that sheltered his Republican head. 
The little man to whom M. Brisson has been talking 
all the while would have cut a better figure at the former 



My Paris Note-Book. 197 

town residence of Madame de Pompadour ; for M. Rene 
Goblet's Republicanism is also above suspicion, and 
though, like most small men, he is somewhat cantanker- 
ous — which M. Brisson is not — and more or less pro- 
vincial, he is at the same time bright and witty. It is a 
well-known fact that when he was at the Ministry of the 
Interior, he was much more master of the situation than 
any of his predecessors had been, and than any of his 
successors, save M. Constans, have been since. The 
officials at the Place Beauveau are no respecters of 
ministers. There are generally three Ministers of the 
Interior, and though the officials have no time to be- 
come familiar with their fast-succeeding chiefs' charac- 
ters, the contempt is there all the same. M. Goblet had no 
objection to their becoming familiar, but was determined 
to put a stop to their contempt. There was in those days, 
and there maybe still, a '' Director of the Press" — read, 
"head of the newspaper department" — named Carle. 
His principal duty consisted in looking to the cuttings 
and extracts from the French and foreign sheets to be laid 
before his superior. M. Carle, in spite of his benevo- 
lent countenance and patriarchal white locks, used to 
delight in annoying the fast-succeeding chiefs. His 
method was invariably the same. During the honey- 
moon of his term of office, the minister was allowed to 
see none but flattering and complimentary paragraphs ; 
then their number gradually diminished, and less satis- 
factory expressions of quasi-public opinion were substi- 
tuted. At the same time M. Carle's attitude to the 
minister whose popularity was on the wane, underwent 
a change. It grew more sympathetic in direct propor- 
tion to the vituperations of the press. On the very 
first day of his assumption of the portfolio of the Inte- 
rior, M. Goblet took the bull by the horns. ' ' I have 

17* 



198 My Paris Note-Book. 

heard, M. Carle," he said, "that you are very much 
affected by having to show adverse criticisms to your 
chiefs. If there should be any, please to keep them 
back, and if you will take my advice, don't read them 
yourself You'll be spared a great deal of pain, and I 
shall not have the sad spectacle of seeing you suffer." 
M. Goblet is the only Minister of the Interior of whom 
M. Carle had subsequently a good word to say. His 
was probably the only one, for M. Goblet is not Hked. 
He is overbearing, and still fancies himself a god of 
some kind. Perhaps it is not his fault, but that of the 
provincial town in the north where he began his career. 
M. Goblet poses as the apostle of ''decentralisation." 
He would fain do away with prefects and sub-prefects, 
and limit the authority of the Minister of the Interior 
over the mayors of towns, large and small, as well as 
communes. The idea in itself may be good or the re- 
verse for France. Unfortunately, M. Goblet is not an 
agreeable example of a local celebrity, ' ' promoted to 
higher destinies ;' ' the most ' ' buckram' ' prefect, the 
most conceited sub-prefect, is a Chesterfield and modest 
creature compared to him. But he is not devoid of 
brains, and but for the lack of vocal power, his speeches 
would afford an agreeable and refreshing change from 
the * ' dull fluency' ' around. As it is, he has great diffi- 
culty in making himself heard. M. Goblet's biography, 
like that of the late M. Tirard, and a dozen others, 
reads, at the first blush, like a fragment from the libretto 
of an op6ra bouffe or extravaganza, rather than a piece 
of sober fact ; but even with the comparatively large 
space at my command, I cannot fill in all the particulars, 
nor afford more than a passing glimpse of all the figures 
whose names are household words — if they are not by- 
words — with newspaper readers throughout the world. 



My Paris Note-Book. 199 

As the hour for the sitting draws nigh, they come 
trooping into the Salle des Pas-Perdus, singly, in pairs, 
in groups. Here comes M. de Douville-Maillefeu, the 
would-be Mirabeau of the Third RepubHc, who, up to 
the present, has only succeeded in being its Triboulet. 
At his heels almost, walks Mgr. d' Hulst, the successor 
to Mgr. Freppel, and the man upon whom religious 
and Conservative France is inclined to look as the 
counterpart of the Abbe (afterwards Cardinal) Maury. 
The little fellow who nimbly gets out of the ecclesias- 
tic's way — whether out of respect or dislike, I am un- 
able to say — and who looks like Fancelli, the well-known 
Italian tenore robusto, is M. Graignon, the erstwhile 
Prefect of Police, who, during the " Caffarel scandal," 
so unfortunately lost the documents and letters which 
would have proved the innocence of M. Daniel Wilson. 
It is on the stroke of three, and the lobby is very full, 
for it is a field day. Here is M. de Freycinet, looking 
not unlike Mr. George Bentley, the eminent publisher, 
though somewhat shorter ; the silk purse, of which the 
Third Republic, in spite of everything that has been said 
lately, has been unable to make socially and financially a 
sow's ear. Immediately behind him come three former 
ambassadors to the Court of St. James's — the Due de la 
Rochefoucauld-Bisaccia, M. Challemel-Lacour, and M. 
Leon Say. They are not together, though their elbows 
almost touch, and they are as far apart, mentally, socially, 
and morally, as the poles are asunder. The ' ' History of 
the French Embassy in London," and the *' History of 
the English Embassy in Paris," have yet to be written, 
but whosoever writes them, whether he intend to pub- 
lish them in the form of bulky quartos or modest octa- 
vos, must divest his mind of all idea of accomplishing 
a work of conciliation, and before engaging upon the 



200 My Paris Note-Book. 

task, must faithfully promise himself to eschew through- 
out the stock phrases of ' ' friendly nations, " " the sym- 
pathy existing between two great peoples," and so forth. 
I can give him an epigram which, if worked out in the 
proper spirit, will produce a more truthful version of 
the real state of feeling between the French and the 
English than all the comphmentary after-dinner speeches 
of lord mayors and their "guests of the evening." It 
is not my own, but Lesage's : ''We embraced one 
another most effusively, and have been the bitterest 
enemies since." M. Decrais is the thirty-ninth French 
Ambassador to the Court of St. James's since the First 
Revolution ; Lord Dufferin is the eleventh English 
Ambassador to France during that same period. The 
historian, if he be so minded, will have no difficulty in 
pointing out the causes of this numerical difference, and 
showing its effect on the "friendly relations between 
two great peoples. ' ' 

I am, however, not concerned with ambassadors at 
this present moment, consequently I let the duke and 
the erstwhile professor of philosophy pass, to contem- 
plate for an instant the grandson of the celebrated Jean 
Baptiste Say, who (the grandson) is the virtual and 
permanent, though unseen Finance Minister of the 
Third Republic, no matter whether the post be occupied 
nominally by M. Rouvier, M. Burdeau, or any one else. 
When the former is in office, M. Say's hand is least 
apparent : when the late M. Tirard held the portfolio, 
M. Say's hand was most apparent. As M. Haentjens, 
the Imperialist deputy, said once — "Tirard proposes, 
and Say disposes." Unlike the erstwhile manufacturer 
of mock jewellery, M. Say does not sacrifice to the 
graces : his trousers seem to be at perpetual logger- 
heads with his shoe-leather ; the skirts of his coat are 



My Paris Note-Book. 201 

almost symbolical of his budgets — they meet in front, 
but there is an ugly gap behind. His moustache is the 
most wonderful part of him — it is a refractory, angry 
moustache, evidently ill at ease beneath the ever-quiv- 
ering nostrils ; the rest of the face is almost motionless, 
and the epithet of Thiers, ^' gros egdiste'' — in a quarrel 
between two niggers, the one is sure to call the other 
"nigger" — that epithet which was altered by Gambetta 
into '' gras econome,'' suggests itself at once to the 
observer. 

All of a sudden there is a rolling of drums ; M. Paul 
de Cassagnac, who has been talking to M. Edouard 
Herve—'' Apollo all but the legs in conversation with 
Apollo all but the head," as some one has it — M. Paul 
de Cassagnac vanishes as if by magic, lest he should be 
compelled to take off his hat ; but we all ' ' uncover ; ' ' 
the troops present arms ; and the President of the 
Chamber, preceded by two ushers, and flanked by two 
officers, passes between the lines of soldiers. I have 
not been in the Chamber for over fifteen months ; the 
last President I saw was M. Floquet, and on that day 
his face curiously reminded me of Marie Antoinette's 
as the old prints represent her. It may have been a 
fancy of mine. When the President has disappeared, 
the Salle des Pas-Perdus becomes almost empty in a few 
minutes, and as I ascend to my perch on the second floor, 
by courtesy called * ' la Tribune de la Presse Etrangere, ' ' 
I can hear the sound of the President's bell. It is the 
signal that the business of the day has begun, for — 

" C'est au bruit de la sonnette 
Que Ton parle et qu'on se tait; 
C'est au bruit de la sonnette 
Qu'on se leve et qu'on s'assied ; 
Sans le bruit de la sonnette 
Jamais rien ne se ferait." 



202 My Paris Note-Book. 



CHAPTER IX. 

Round about the Palais-Bourbon — More about the President's bell 
— Past Presidents and their performances on the instrument — 
Dupin aine — A mot of M. Floquet — Unruly deputies— M. de Cas- 
sagnac — M. Baudry d'Asson — The President's task more difficult 
now than it was formerly — The President's hat — The President's 
chair and table— The eight secretaries — The rostrum — Orators 
of former days, and speakers of to-day — Interrupters — The offi- 
cial shorthand reporters and summary writers — Their honesty — 
French journalists and their duties — M. Emile Ollivier, the ex- 
Empress Eugenie, and Sir John Lintorn Simmons — The Quaes- 
tors — The members' stipend, and what it led to in one instance 
— First appearance of Gambetta on the political scene — A word 
about "An Englishman in Paris" — Refreshments for deputies — 
Quaestor Baze's reform — Distribution of the members' seats — 
The ministerial bench— The manner of voting— Ladies in the 
Chamber — Parliamentary oratory. 

That metrical allusion to the importance of the Presi- 
dent's bell in the Chamber with which I wound up just 
now is even more true at present than when it was writ- 
ten about a hundred years ago. It would be difficult 
perhaps to convey a just estimate of that importance, 
not only as it affects the deputies themselves, but as 
showing the temper and disposition of the chairman. I 
have not been at the Palais- Bourbon since MM. Casimir- 
Perier and Dupuy have occupied the position ; but I 
remember the performances on the bell of MM. de 
Morny, Walewski, and Schneider (during the Empire), 
and those of their successors, MM. Gr6vy, Buffet, 
d'Audiffret-Pasquier, Gambetta, Brisson, and Floquet, 
under the Third Republic. That of the late President 



My Paris Note-Book. 203 

of the Republic was a kind of sober, mild protest, emi- 
nently suggestive of a desire not to damage the metal, 
and as if to lend colour to the suggestion, M. Grevy 
used to bend forward now and again to ascertain 
whether any such damage had been done. It would 
tally with the character of the man who, whenever a 
heated discussion arose in the Ministerial Council, en- 
deavoured to still the troubled waters with a ' ' Do what 
you like, but don't let's have any fuss ; " it would tally, 
above all, with his economical spirit, which saw no good 
in the smashing of furniture that had to be replaced. 
The subject of M. Grevy' s "carefulness" is, however, 
too interesting, especially when viewed in connection 
with the exalted position he occupied, to be dismissed 
in a few lines ; I will refer to it again in my notes about 
the Elys6e-Bourbon. 

M. Buffet' s performance was equally characteristic of 
himself It was sustained and prolonged even after the 
necessity of it had ceased — out of time and out of tune, 
defiant and harsh like his speeches, which were always 
sprinkled with things disagreeable to political friends 
and foes alike, and emphasised by a scowling challenge 
to his listeners. M. Brisson's ring depressed you like 
the tolling at a funeral ; Gambetta's sounded like a toc- 
sin ; and M. Floquet's two sharp jerks gave one the 
impression of the fall of the lunette on the condemned 
man's neck, and the whirr of the descending guillotine 
immediately afterwards. For M. Charles Floquet, 
though he is probably not the Jacobin of former days, 
'' now that he's got a coo," would not like the knowl- 
edge of that change to go forth to the world at large. He 
lashed himself in a rage by shaking his bell, as Edmund 
Kean lashed himself in a rage by shaking a ladder 
before "going on " in the third act of The Merchant of 



204 My Paris Note-Book. 

Venice. In my notes on the Com6die-Fran9aise will be 
found an anecdote of Got's telling that story to M. 
Mounet-Sully. M. Floquet, who is a frequent visitor 
to the green-room, must have heard and applied it in 
his own way. 

The greatest ''virtuoso on the Presidential bell," 
however, was undoubtedly Dupin aine, who occupied 
the chair from 1832 till 1839, and from May 24, 1849, 
till the day of the Coup d' Etat. Though I remember 
seeing him once or twice in the early sixties, I never 
heard him perform, his Presidential career having come 
to an end long before my time. His manipulation of 
the instrument was, by all accounts, something wonder- 
ful — in fact, if we are to believe his contemporaries, 
many of whom are still alive, he was the most wonder- 
ful President the Chamber ever had or is likely to have. 
His remarks and answers to refractory or merely turbu- 
lent deputies remind one of Rivarol and Rochefoucauld. 
Here is one which the next time Dr. Farquharson at- 
tempts to suppress the titles of courtesy the members 
of the British House of Commons give to one another, 
may be pointed out to him with advantage. Among 
the most unruly members during the Second Republic 
was the so-called workingman Miot. One day he was 
addressing the Chamber, when, pretending to make a 
distinction between the two sides of the House, he 
turned to the left, saying — '' Citoyens democrates ;'' then 
turning to the right, he exclaimed — ''Messieurs les 
royalistes. ..." Having been called to order, he 
wilfully aggravated by correcting his address. ' ' Cito- 
yens'' he began ; but Dupin interrupted him at once, 
* ' Soyons citoyens, mais restons Messieurs, ' ' he sug- 
gested in a bantering voice. On another occasion, 
Jules Favre, in a debate on public education, was quo- 



My Paris Note-Book. 205 

ting Fouche and Talleyrand, and trying to fortify his 
position by saying that they belonged to the Church. 
''One moment," protested Dupin ; "they had left the 
Church." " There may be a diiference between Faith 
and Hope," quoth another member. "Between Faith 
and Hope, monsieur, there is Charity, ' ' was the answer. 
My uncles, who admired Dupin greatly, and who never 
missed an opportunity of attending the sittings of the 
Chamber while he was in the chair, left me a collection 
of his sayings, from which I might quote for hours, and 
justify my contention that there never was a President 
like him, and that there probably never will be one. 
They called Dupin' s mots the libretto to his music, al- 
luding to his marvellous performance on the bell. But 
they admitted that Royer-Collard (i 828-1 829-1 830) ran 
him very hard, and was better tempered. One thing is 
certain ; during my many years' experience of the 
Chamber of Deputies, a few witticisms a la Dupin would 
have been very welcome, but I do not recollect many 
that have emanated from the chair. Stay, I recollect 
one, but no more, and my memory is not a bad one for 
that kind of thing. I will endeavour to make it clear 
to the reader, but it is not very easy. M. Floquet was 
in the chair, and the thing came pat in reply to a spite- 
ful remark from M. Paul de Cassagnac, who is one of 
the enfants terribles of the Chamber. It was in con- 
nection with a statement of the late M. Tirard, who 
before embarking in politics was a manufacturer of imi- 
tation jewellery in a small way. M. Tirard was still in 
the tribune when the editor of V Autorit^ — it was Le 
Pays then, if I am not mistaken — exclaimed — "C'est 
faux. " As a matter of course, he was promptly called 
to order, and as promptly corrected himself ' ' Vous 
avez raison, M. le President, j'aurais dti dire, c'est du 

18 



2o6 My Paris Note-Book. 

double." **Tres bien, M. de Cassagnac, ce n'est pas 
mal pour une doublure." ' 

It was virtually telling M. de Cassagnac, who prides 
himself on having successfully bearded every President 
during the Third Republic, that he, the chairman, only 
considered him an "understudy" — in this instance to 
M. Baudry d'Asson, who during the whole of M. 
Tirard's speech had been interrupting, and rather 
cleverly. It was unjust to M. de Cassagnac, who as a 
* * man of wit' ' is vastly superior to the ' ' owner of one 
of the handsomest beards and packs of hounds in 
France. " I am quoting the usual compliment paid to 
M. Baudry d'Asson. M. de Cassagnac is an impro- 
visateur, while M. Baudry d'Asson carefully rehearses 
his effects. M. de Cassagnac' s outbursts are to a cer- 
tain extent excusable, for he is known to be hasty and 
excitable, though an excellent fellow at heart. M. 
Baudry d'Asson is equally kind-hearted, frank, and 
cordial to a degree, eminently serviceable, and has no 
temper to speak of, and yet, now that M. Pradi6 is gone, 
or has abandoned his tactics — for I am not certain 
whether he still belongs to the Chamber — M. Baudry 
d'Asson is the most turbulent creature there. Consti- 
tutionally, the French deputy is a more orderly being 
than his English counterpart ; unfortunately, he is more 
impulsive, and when thus impelled, more demonstrative. 
I doubt whether he ever makes up his mind deliberately 
to provoke a "row" Hke the Irish member at St. 
Stephen's. When his excitement gets the better of 
him, he bangs his desk, and even ' ' thumps' ' his neigh- 
bour, flourishes his paper-knife, shakes his fist at all and 
sundry ; but he is sorry for all this afterwards, and faith- 

» Double is the euphemism used by the French trade for mock 
jewellery ; doublure means " understudy" as well as lining. 



My Paris Note-Book. 207 

fully promises himself not to do it again. Of course, 
he breaks his promise, and perhaps on that same after- 
noon, but, as in Rip van Winkle's case, ''that once 
doesn't count." M. Baudry d'Asson is the exception ; 
his ''hell" is not paved with good intentions. As I 
have said, he prepares his ' ' incidents' ' as Scribe pre- 
pared the sensational situations in his comedies, as 
Victor Ducange prepared the clous of his melodramas. 
Proof whereof is the following. While the National 
Assembly was still at Versailles, a small party of depu- 
ties passing along one of the passages heard a terrible 
noise in one of the smaller committee rooms. There 
were evidently three individuals in there, two of whom 
had come to high words, and might come to blows if 
not interrupted, albeit that one of the three was appa- 
rently more calm than the others, and proffered words 
of paternal advice. ' ' Do you maintain what you have 
said ?' ' asked one of the violent disputants. ' ' Not only 
do I maintain it, but I will repeat it whenever and wher- 
ever you like," was the furious reply. Thereupon there 
was a shuffling of feet, and at last those outside opened 
the door. To their great surprise there was no one in 
the room but M. Baudry d'Asson, who had been re- 
hearsing, with two imaginary interlocutors, a scene he 
intended to enact that afternoon in the Chamber. The 
first of these personages was an orator M. Baudry 
d'Asson meant to interrupt; the second was M. Jules 
Gr6vy, the then President of the Chamber, who was 
supposed to pour oil upon the troubled waters, though 
at the same time addressing, as in duty bound, some 
severe reprimands to the interrupting member ; to which 
reprimands the latter responded victoriously. M, Pradie, 
of whom I spoke just now, proceeded differently. 
While M. Baudry d'Asson never professes to execute 



2o8 My Paris Note-Book. 

anything but solos, the other organised choruses of in- 
terruptions. In reality, it was never more than a quar- 
tet, for his followers did not exceed the number of the 
Tooley Street conspirators. Every now and then, but 
especially at the beginning of his attempt to found a 
"cave of Adullam," at which time he was positively 
alone, M. Pradie spread the rumour that he would hold 
a meeting in one of the committee rooms. M. Pradi6 
locked himself into said room, and the passers-by heard 
a most infernal noise, but no one was his dupe ; only, 
in order to flatter his vanity, people pretended to be- 
lieve, and went so far as to protest against ' * such a 
numerous gathering of too excitable adherents. ' ' 

To return to the Chamber and its President. Has 
the task of presiding at the debates become more ardu- 
ous than it was in the days of Dupin, and is the in- 
creased burden the cause of all absence of wit on the 
part of Dupin' s successors? Or have the legisla- 
tors of France become less sensitive to a neatly worded 
reprimand ? I am not prepared to say ; but one thing 
is certain — the Presidency of the French Chamber is no 
sinecure at present, whatever it may have been of yore. 
The splitting up of the Chamber into a great number 
of small groups, ninety-nine of which will band together 
to hoot down a speaker of the hundredth who hap- 
pens to displease them, undoubtedly entails a vast ex- 
penditure of physical exertion on the part of the chair- 
man. I have seen even Gambetta leave his seat, tired, 
fagged, and unable to answer his friends in anything 
above a whisper. As an instance of the increasing diffi- 
culty of quelling the more and more frequently recurring- 
disturbances, I may cite a story which I have on the best 
authority. 

Unlike the members of our House of Commons, the 



My Paris Note-Book. 209 

French deputies not only sit bareheaded, but rarely, if 
ever, take their hats with them into the House, The 
accommodation provided for them is about as perfect as 
it can be ; the only drawbacks to their comfort are in- 
different ventilation and defective acoustic conditions. 
They sit on leather benches with backs, arranged amphi- 
theatre-wise, and divided into blocks by means of gang- 
ways. They have locked desks, provided with plentiful 
supplies of stationery : there is nothing to prevent them 
from attending to their correspondence while the busi- 
ness of the House is proceeding, a privilege of which 
they are not slow to avail themselves, for as a rule they 
pay but scant attention to the fast-succeeding or * ' super- 
fluously lagging" speakers. A deputy chooses his seat 
at the beginning of the session, inserts his card in the 
gilt frame provided for that purpose against the back of 
the desk-ledge, and having thus marked his ownership, 
there is no need for him to repair to the Chamber at six 
in the morning on the day of a great debate with one 
hat on his head and another in his hand. Consequently, 
there is no headgear of any kind, and least of all of the 
chimney-pot order, to be found in the salle des seances. 
M. Tony R^villon or Under Secretary Labuze might a 
few years ago have had their grey sombreros stowed 
away in their desks, and M. Thivrier may at present 
have his cap in the pocket of his blouse ; but neither 
of those couvre-chefs would have provided, or would 
provide, a sufficiently dignified covering for the Presi- 
dent in the event of his wishing to leave the House to 
mark his disapproval of the disorderly proceedings 
within ; for it should be remembered that the essential 
manifestation of such disapproval Hes in the donning of 
the hat. The official residence of the President of the 
Chamber being within the walls of the Palais-Bourbon, 
o 18* 



2IO My Paris Note-Book. 

and custom having decreed that he shall wear evening 
dress, he, as a matter of course, proceeds to his chair 
bareheaded. Nevertheless, the necessity for having in 
readiness at all times a hat that would not disfigure the 
President's appearance and thus convert an exit, in- 
tended to be tragic, into a comic one, was not felt until 
a few years ago ; and this in spite of the fact that on one 
occasion at Versailles, M. Grevy's head positively disap- 
peared in the stove-pipe of that eminent professor of 
dramatic literature M. de Saint- Marc Girardin, who 
happened to be closest at hand when the usher rushed 
frantically into one of the lobbies in search of the re- 
quired article. Nowadays, every President at his ac- 
cession to office has one of his own hats conveyed to a 
recess within his reach. Truly a sign of the times ! 

By the time these notes appear in print, a hundred 
and five years (almost day for day) will have elapsed 
since the first truly representative French Parliament 
forgathered at Versailles. It was my original inten- 
tion to attempt a more or less complete sketch not only 
of the moral and mental evolution that has marked that 
century of legislation, but to point out also the material 
changes that have taken place since then. I frankly 
confess that this would have been a labour of love to 
me, for I flatter myself that I would have been able to 
interest the reader. However grandiloquent and austere 
a dame History may be, I feel confident that she never 
refuses to admit her more sprightly sister Anecdote to 
share some of her glory, provided the latter comes with 
decent credentials. I fancy I could have produced 
these, but unfortunately, there is again that question 
of space, and I must fain resign myself to give a merely 
cursory view of the present conditions. The opportu- 
nity is only deferred, not abandoned. 



My Paris Note-Book. 211 

The President's chair and table, on the latter of which 
is fixed the afore-mentioned bell, are perched atop a tow- 
ering structure that reminds one somewhat of the storied 
platforms used in the mediaeval mystery plays. The 
structure rises at the base of the semicircular-shaped 
Chamber, and the space between it and the lowermost 
tier of seats is virtually the floor of the House. On a 
line with the President, though a little below him, sit the 
eight secretaries or clerks, four on each side. They are 
generally chosen from among the youngest members of 
the Chamber in point of age. Immediately underneath 
the President's table is the rostrum, from which mem- 
bers address the House, for, as I have already observed,^ 
members rarely speak from their seats, except to refute 
a statement affecting them, and then the refutation must 
not occupy more than a few moments. As a rule, 
there is no need to invite them to the rostrum, they go 
uninvited : they take to it as a duck to the water. ' ' Ce 
qui distingue surtout cette Chambre, c'est 1' appetence 
a la tribune," said the late M. Madier de Montjau some 
years ago, and the remark would hold as good to-day. 
Appetence^ I may be permitted to point out, is not an 
ordinary word, but then M. Madier de Montjau was not 
an ordinary man. According to the authorities, appe- 
tence means the instinctive desire which impels to an 
object calculated to satisfy a natural craving ; in other 
terms, it is the first degree of appetite. Some of the 
most eminent Frenchmen of the nineteenth century, 
the great Villemain among others, dreaded the ordeal 
of addressing the Chamber ; M. Dufaure, though per- 
haps not so terror-stricken as the former, ascended the 
steps of the tribune with reluctance, and left it with 
alacrity ; Guizot, Berryer, and Thiers never spoke with- 
out there being an absolute necessity for their doing so, 



212 My Paris Note-Book. 

though the latter, when started, would go on as long as 
they let him. The majority of the members of the last 
three or four French Parliaments know nothing of such 
fear and reserve ; they ascend the steps with alacrity, 
and descend with reluctance. Of course there are ex- 
ceptions ; there are men whose grandfathers sat in the 
Parliaments of the First Republic, whose fathers occu- 
pied similar positions in the legislatures of the Citizen- 
Monarchy and Second Republic, while they themselves 
seem to be " fixtures' ' in the ' ' assemblies' ' of the Third 
Republic ; and yet these representatives of three gen- 
erations of legislators have invariably maintained a dig- 
nified silence. There is another category of ' * law- 
givers, ' ' described more than forty years ago by Michel 
de Bourges in one sentence. The most difficult thing 
with deputies * * who do not speak' ' is to induce them to 
hold their tongues. There is the deputy who could not 
utter a score of succinct and intelligible sentences to 
save his life, but who every now and then executes a 
short solo in his own seat on well-known themes. If 
he be a Republican, the theme is, ' ' What about the 
St. Bartholomew's massacres?" if a Legitimist, "What 
about the murder of Louis XVL ?" if a Bonapartist, 
*' What about the execution of the hostages during the 
Commune ?' ' and so forth. Among those I have known 
on both sides of the House should be mentioned apothe- 
cary Truelle, sometime member for Nogent-le-Rotrou, 
the most pertinent illustration of that hackneyed saying 
that ''Truth is stranger than fiction." But for his ap- 
pearance on the scene after ''Madame Bovary" and 
" Nos Bons Villageois" had been written, one might 
have suspected him of being the original of Flaubert's 
' ' Homais' ' and Sardou' s ' ' Floupin. ' ' I will not charge 
the memory of Truelle — for he may be dead, for all I 



My Paris Note-Book. 213 

know — with having modelled his behaviour on that of 
the two fictitious personages just mentioned. I doubt 
whether Truelle ever opened a book in his life, except 
those relating to his profession ; but he was uncom- 
monly like those two comic, but not very sympathetic 
characters. There were also the two university profes- 
sors, Compayre and Lenient, two of the most terrible 
' ' cases' ' of " constipated' ' knowledge I have ever met 
with, and their fellow-member Dr. Lionville, who, 
though a physician, was of no earthly use to them, see- 
ing that he suffered from the same complaint. They, 
in common with the Monarchist paper manufacturer 
Laroche-Joubert, the sugar-refiner Villain, and a dozen 
others, had reduced Parliamentary eloquence, so far as 
they themselves were concerned, to one perpetual in- 
terjection. They were positively incurable, unlike their 
still more violent emulator, Dr. Vernhes, whose violence 
could be stopped by the mere exclamation on the part 
of the Chamber — "A la tribune!" He collapsed at 
once and for the whole day. They are, however, ' ' all 
goned afay, afay in de ewigkeit ;' ' with the exception of 
the Comte de Douville-Maillefeu, who has developed 
into a speaker, but not of the kind he intended to be, 
inasmuch as his most serious remarks are always hailed 
with intense laughter. 

The tribune — to come back to that place of torture 
to some, of delight to others — is reached by a double 
flight of steps, a very sensible arrangement under the 
circumstances, inasmuch as it prevents two political ad- 
versaries from coming into too close contact with one 
another while party passion is at its height ; for, by the 
rules of the Chamber, the supporters and the opponents 
of a measure follow one another alternately, and the 
rule cannot be set aside except by a member voluntarily 



214 My Paris Note-Book. 

giving up his turn to another whom he designates. 
There is room enough in the rostrum for the speaker to 
stride up and down ; and there are few French ParHa- 
mentary orators who stand perfectly still — the late Mgr. 
Freppel was one, M. Ribot is another ; but most mem- 
bers remind one of a bear in a pit, or a tiger in a cage. 
The rostrum is made of mahogany ; nevertheless, it is 
frequently alluded to as '*the marble of the tribune." 
That in use in the Chamber of Deputies is the original 
rostrum of the Convention ; that of the Senate dates 
from the Directory. It belonged to the Council of ' * the 
Five Hundred." 

Below the tribune, and on a level with the floor, is a 
row of desks for the shorthand reporters ; and a little 
in front of these a table for the secretaires-rtdadeurs du 
compte-rendu analytique — Anglic^, summary writers. 
From the latter' s ranks, both in the Chamber and in the 
Senate, there have issued men- whose names have be- 
come household words in literature, and especially in 
dramatic literature, such as, for instance, M. Ludovic 
Hal6vy, M. Henri de la Pommeraye, M. Gastineau, &c. 
For these reports are not only carefully composed, but 
great pains are taken with their style. To begin with, 
these summaries, as well as the verbatim reports, go the 
round of the whole of the French press. In England 
every newspaper of importance, whether metropolitan 
or provincial, has not only its staff of shorthand re- 
porters, but very frequently a summary writer of ability 
besides. This is not the case in France. I do not sup- 
pose there is a single paper there — not even Le Temps^ 
the Journal des Dibats or Le Figaro — which has a sum- 
mary writer proper, let alone a staff of stenographers of 
its own. Why should they ? The extenso and ' ' ana- 
lytical' ' reports of the speeches are placed gratuitously 



My Paris Note-Book. 215 

at their disposal by the Chambers. The journahsts 
who are packed into that box on the second tier in the 
Chamber are not sent by their respective editors to indite 
serious reports, but to give sketches — I had ahnost said 
caricatures — ^of the members, the fit of whose neckties, 
the shape of whose clothes, the peculiarities of whose 
diction, are of more importance to the general readers 
than their often endless speeches. These Yoricks have 
graver colleagues, who rarely condescend to notice such 
trifles ; but they never make their appearance in the 
journalists' box. They remain in the Salle des Pas- 
Perdus ; they are the real newsmongers, and have no 
equals among other nations, not even among Americans, 
for worming a secret out of a deputy. When I was in 
active service in Paris, there was Hement of Le Temps 
and Le Rappel, Legrand of the Debais, Toulouze, who 
proved such a formidable rival to the " Agence Havas," 
and two or three others, whose political articles were 
not only literary treats, but masterly exposes of facts, 
whose mere paragraphs contained more solid informa- 
tion, conveyed in the most brilliant fashion, than columns 
upon columns of verbatim report. 

Some of their successors and younger colleagues are 
to the full as able as they ; their merits, however, should 
not blind us to the sterling value of the official shorthand 
reporters and summary writers who discharge a very 
difficult task with great tact, invariable courtesy, and 
unimpeachable honesty. In the life of one of the two 
greatest statesmen of the century — I am alluding to 
Prince Bismarck — there is an incident which one would 
hesitate to believe but for his own authority. I am 
quoting from memory, and cannot therefore give the 
exact date, but I am certain of the main fact. One day 
in the early sixties, Bismarck made a speech in which 



2i6 My Paris Note-Book. 

several very highly placed personages were treated with 
but scant courtesy, and things said that had been per- 
haps better left unsaid. Half-an-hour later the proof of 
the shorthand report was submitted to him, and to his 
great surprise he failed to find the expressions he had 
made use of. ' ' What' s the meaning of this ?' ' he asked 
of the chief of the shorthand writers. ' ' Well, your 
Excellency, ' ' stammered the latter, ' ' I felt not quite 
certain whether you would like to have these statements 
maintained in sober earnest." ''But I was in sober 
earnest; or" — and here an idea flashed on Bismarck's 
mind — " were you under the impression, perhaps, that 
I had lunched too well ?' ' The official turned very red. 
"Well, Excellency," he said, after a short pause, "that 
was the impression, for I had never seen your Excellency 
so excited before." 

The shorthand writers at the Palais-Bourbon would 
not be swayed by such considerations ; least of all would 
they be swayed by meaner motives ; and the material 
temptations to garble reports have not been wanting in 
by-gone days, and, I daresay, are not wanting now. It 
has happened, not once but a dozen times, that a speaker, 
becoming aware of the disastrous effect of a sentence on 
his audience, and foreseeing one still more disastrous if 
the sentence be allowed to go forth to the country at 
large, apart from the impression it might produce upon 
his constituents, has endeavoured to have that sentence 
expunged from the reports, and left no stone unturned 
to that end. A notable instance of that kind was M. 
Emile Ollivier's after he had accepted war " with a light 
heart." But though he was the Prime Minister, the 
stenographers literally ' ' stuck to their text ;' ' and the 
sentence remains as a proof of his share in a transaction 
the particulars of which I intend to thresh out one day, 



My Paris Note-Book. 217 

in spite of the displeasure of the ex-Empress of the 
French, and the utterly ignorant remarks of her would-be 
chivalrous but simply ridiculous defender, Sir John Lin- 
torn Simmons, who, field-marshal or not, has as much 
knowledge of les dessous de la politique /ran false as a 
hurdy-gurdy man of counterpoint. I repeat, the sen- 
tence remains, not only as a proof of his share in the 
transaction, but as sterling and more gratifying evidence 
of the integrity of a body of men who are by no means 
overpaid. 

Next in importance to the sixteen shorthand reporters, 
who relieve one another every two minutes, come the 
three quaestors, one of whom is generally seated behind 
the President, who consults him on points of order. 
Their importance comes home to the deputies more 
materially than that of the scribes ; for without those 
three officials the deputies would freeze in winter, be 
stifled in summer, parch with thirst at all seasons, and 
not find a morsel wherewith to satisfy their hunger. 
They are virtually the house stewards of the Palais- 
Bourbon, and the police of the House itself Of the 
recent quaestors, I have only known one, M. Bizarelli, 
and him but slightly. But I have known some famous 
quaestors in my time — MM. Madier de Montjau, Martin 
Nadaud, Baze, Margaine, and Colonel Denfert-Roche- 
reau. Ever since the quaestorship was instituted, it has 
been the custom to give one of the three appointments 
to a retired ''army man" — subject, of course, to his 
being a member of the Chamber like the others. It 
was supposed that, in the event of an attack upon the 
Legislature from the outside by an ambitious would-be 
dictator backed by troops, the erstwhile officer's in- 
fluence on assailants and defenders would be sufficiently 
strong to nip such an attack in the bud. The fallacy of 
K 19 



2i8 My Paris Note-Book. 

that assumption was amply proved on the morning of 
the 2nd December 1851, when Colonel Leflo was simply 
taken like a rat in a trap, while the quaestor who offered 
the stoutest resistance and gave the greatest trouble was 
M. Baze, a lawyer. Though the tradition with regard 
to the necessity of having a military man among the 
quaestors remained unimpaired, M. Baze was henceforth 
the ' ' quaestor elect' ' with the Republicans ; and as a 
matter of course, the appointment was waiting for him 
in the National Assembly. When in due time he be- 
came a Senator, he at the same time became a quaestor 
at the Luxembourg, as he had been at the Palais-Bour- 
bon. He was not an amiable man in the discharge of 
his functions, and was cordially disliked by every jour- 
nalist whose duty compelled him to come in contact with 
him ; but he was honest and upright to a fault, and if 
such a small matter as the annual saving of three or four 
thousand pounds be of any consequence in a budget like 
that of France, M. Baze's statue ought to adorn the re- 
freshment rooms both at the Palais- Bourbon and at the 
Luxembourg. Apart from the lesson of thrift it con- 
veys, the story of M. Baze's reform is worth teUing as 
an illustration of the difference between our own Parlia- 
mentary customs' and those of our nearest neighbours. 

It was almost at the outset of the Parliamentary 
regime in France that the payment of members was de- 
cided on. A little over three months after the States- 
General at Versailles had begun their labours, the Due 
de Liancourt moved that the deputies should be granted 
a stipend ; that stipend to be uniform for the ' ' three 
orders" of the States. The proposal could not very 
well emanate from a deputy whose need of such a sti- 
pend was apparent, and the Due de Liancourt' s position 
absolutely forbade such a suspicion ; yet. odd to relate, 



My Paris Note-Book. 219 

even those who were known to be in urgent need of 
such assistance Hstened to the motion with the utmost 
indifference, and not a member rose to second it. Nev- 
ertheless, it was carried, and the amount of the "in- 
demnity" fixed in committee at 18 francs per day. Dur- 
ing the Directory the stipend was increased to 28 francs 
per day. The Consulate reduced it by a trifle, namely, 
by 4 francs, 50 centimes per week, the annual sum be- 
ing 10,000 francs per annum, which figure was main- 
tained during the Empire, though there is a slight di- 
vergence of opinion about this. The divergence does 
not affect the drift of the present notes. Under the 
Restoration and the Citizen-Monarchy the deputies 
gave their services gratuitously ; but a decree of the 
Constituent Assembly of '48 restored their stipend to 
them at the rate of 25 francs per day. 

It will be patent to the reader by this time that I have 
not the smallest pretension to "pose" as a historian, 
but that I love to wander into the by-paths of history. 
Perhaps it is because I have not got a coach-and-four, 
or a thorough-bred on which to prance on the high- 
ways. I have always considered the payment of mem- 
bers of Parliament a mistake from many points of view, 
and curiously enough, in my frequent chats with the 
French democracy — outside the Chamber — I have found 
the majority to agree with my view of the question. 
Anyhow, the Parisian proletariat of the Second Repub- 
lic were never weary of holding those ' ' salaried repre- 
sentatives" up to ridicule and contempt. They be- 
stowed upon them the epithet of ' ' five and twenty 
franckers" {les vingt-cinq francs). This is not a mere 
assertion transmitted by irresponsible observers ; it is a 
fact vouched for by acknowledged and interested au- 
thorities, not the least among them being M. Odillon 



220 My Paris Note-Book. 

Barrot, who is assuredly not open to the suspicion of 
having wished to besmirch dehberately the RepubHcan 
regime to which, in a great measure, he was affiHated. 
Well, in his ' * Posthumous Memoirs' ' he tells a very 
pertinent story. In common with a great many other 
deputies, he was arrested on the 2nd December 1851, 
and on the morning of the 3rd taken to the fortress of 
Vincennes in company with some of his fellow-prisoners. 
They were conveyed in prison vans, not a very gener- 
ous or dignified proceeding on the part of the promoters 
of the Coup d' Etat, but a la guerre comme a la guerre, 
and no other vehicles were available. *'As we were 
being driven along the Faubourg Saint-Antoine the 
workmen were already leaving their homes for the 
workshops. They inquired of one another what these 
conveyances accompanied by such powerful escorts 
might contain. * Ah !' they remarked, when told who 
we were, ' they are the five and twenty franckers, who 
are going to be put under lock and key {qu' on va coff- 
rer)] serves them right.' This was all the interest 
shown to the representatives elected by universal suf- 
frage by the population of that faubourg so notorious 
and dreaded on account of its democratic passions." 

So far M. Odillon Barrot. Now for the sequel, or 
rather for the various sequels — and the play is not at an 
end yet. Sequel i. While the vans continued their 
journey, several deputies of the Extreme Left — only 
one of whom is known to Englishmen, Esquiros, who 
wrote the best book on England ever written by a 
Frenchman — were holding a meeting at a small hall 
ordinarily used for dancing and high jinks. An hour 
or so afterwards they went into the street, girt with 
their scarves of ofiice, trying to stir the people into re- 
volt and shouting "Aux barricades; aux barricades." 



My Paris Note-Book. 221 

** Ah, ouiche^^ — I beg the printer not to put out, for it 
is not the same thing — " Ah, ouiche,'' quoth a woman 
of the people, who had caught up the epithet * * five and 
twenty francker ' ' in the course of the morning, ' ' to 
be sure, our men are going to get themselves killed for 
the sake of your five and twenty francs a day." The 
taunt was uttered loudly enough for every one to hear 
it ; only one of the deputies, Jean-Baptiste Baudin, a 
rising surgeon, took it up. ' ' Is that it ?' ' he said 
bitterly. ' * Well, I am going to show you how a five 
and twenty francker can meet his death. ' ' He was as 
good as his word ; half-an-hour later he fell — a bullet 
had struck him right in the forehead. 

Sequel 2. Seventeen years elapsed, and the tragic 
but somewhat theatrical death of Baudin was, if not 
forgotten, scarcely alluded to, except by those who had 
been near him on that fatal morning. I was never very 
long away from Paris during the last three years of the 
Second Empire, and though seeing a good deal of all 
sorts and conditions of men, and especially all sorts and 
conditions of Republicans, I do not recollect a single 
allusion to it. Of course, the story was known to me, 
as it was known to thousands who were not absolutely 
ignorant of the history of France during the fifties and 
sixties, but that was all. I will prove my statement 
directly. All at once the name of Baudin was on every 
one's lips, the newspapers were full of articles about him, , 
and crowds of people repaired to the Montmartre ceme- 
tery. But so utterly neglected had Baudin' s memory 
become that his grave was found with difficulty. What 
was the cause of this tardy apotheosis ? Simply the pub- 
lication of a book which recounted the well-known story 
of Baudin' s self-sacrifice, with sundry embellishments 
not founded upon facts, and certain facts distorted for 

19* 



222 My Paris Note-Book. 

the sake of embellishment. I have the book by me ; 
I bought it within a month of its appearance, and the 
title-page bears the inscription ''Seventh Edition."* 
Well, I have no hesitation in saying that M. T6not ex- 
aggerated as much in 1868 as did in 1884 M. de Maupas, 
whose "M^moires sur le Second Empire" I had the 
honour to translate, and to whom I am, moreover, in- 
debted for most of the rough notes that constituted the 
foundation of "An Englishman in Paris." How they 
came into his possession, and from his into mine, to- 
gether with the name of the Englishman who entrusted 
them to him, I will relate one day, not very distant per- 
haps. At present it is sufficient to say that the English- 
man himself would not recognise them in their actual 
shape, were he to revisit the glimpses of the moon. 
The whole of these notes barely covered three quires of 
note-paper, written very closely, it is true, but only on 
one side. If, after that, I am not the author of the 
book, Stephenson is not the inventor of the locomotive, 
for he did not make his own materials, any more than 
I did. Enough about myself; I return for a moment 
to Baudin, previous to returning to Quaestor Baze, of 
whom I have by no means lost sight. 

The condition of Baudin' s grave struck most of the 
Opposition journals as a disgraceful injustice, and forth- 
with they opened subscription lists with the view of re- 
pairing the neglect, and placing a suitable monument 
on his tomb. I need not go into too many particulars. 
Among the most ardent advocates of the project was 
Delescluze, the editor of Le Reveil, and he, with many 
other editors, was indicted before the Sixth Correctional 

I " Paris en Decembre 185 1. Etude Historique sur le Coup 
d'Etat," par Eugene Tenot, redacteur du Siecle, auteur de la 
Province en Decembre 1851. Paris, Armand Le Chevalier, 6i 
Rue de Richelieu. 



My Paris Note-Book. 223 

Chamber for * * having attempted to foment civil strife, 
and to discredit the Government of the Emperor by- 
means of seditious writings," &c., &c. 

In those days there might have been seen at the Caf6 
de Madrid, on the Boulevard Montmartre, a very 
Jewish-looking man, whose age it was rather difficult to 
determine at a first glance. Careless, not to say slovenly, 
in his attire, and that attire never in the best of taste 
nor in the best of conditions, he gave one at one time 
the impression of being much older than he seemed, at 
another of being much younger than he really was. 
That man was L6on Gambetta, the friend and to a cer- 
tain extent the protege of Ranc and SpuUer, the chief 
contributors to Le Nain Jaune. In spite of all that has 
been said to the contrary, no one at that period foresaw 
Gambetta' s future part in history ; for the simple reason 
that even as late as '66 and '67 few foresaw the igno- 
minious collapse of the Second Empire, and these few 
certainly did not visit the Caf6 de Madrid, and, least of 
all, come in contact with the ill- dressed, loud-mannered, 
though fundamentally generous and good-natured, 
young barrister. Nevertheless, he was not altogether 
obscure ; he had figured with credit to himself as coun- 
sel for the defence in several minor "press prosecutions " 
instituted by the Empire, and was looked upon in the 
Quartier- Latin as a probable successor to Cr^mieux and 
Favre. Politically, his star was not even discernible on 
the horizon, though he himself endeavoured to make it 
sufficiently patent that he would rise politically or not 
at all. By which I mean that he never hesitated to 
show his intention of making his profession a means to 
an end, and that end a political one. I do not say that 
his wildest dreams of ambition showed him the Dicta- 
torship as he virtually enjoyed it for several months, the 



224 My Paris Note-Book. 

Dictatorship he was so loath to relinquish, and which 
ever and anon he tried to resume. What his ambitious 
dreams showed him was the Liberal Premiership under 
the Empire, just as Mirabeau's ambition had shown him 
the Premiership under Louis XVL That this ambition 
would have been realised but for the fall of the Empire, 
there can be not the least doubt in the minds of those 
who watched his career before that fall, and who re- 
membered his speeches at Belleville, in March 1870. 
It is not libelling M. Emile Ollivier to say that as a 
politician of the ' * purely fighting kind, ' * he never came 
within a measurable distance of Gambetta, and he 
fought himself into a Premiership ; why should not 
Gambetta have done the same? They started under 
almost similar conditions. 

At the moment of which I treat, however, Gambetta' s 
political star, I repeat, was not visible on the horizon ; 
but it was soon to flash upon the world. The ' ' Baudin 
prosecution" gave him his chance. The morning after 
his speech for the defence of Delescluze he was famous ; 
next year he made his first appearance in Parliament ; 
and having been baulked of the opportunity to defend 
the Empire as its Premier, he embraced the opportunity 
of kicking it out of his way when it was down. In the 
latter years of his life Gambetta was very fond of calling 
Grevy a " Prudhomme-Machiavel." It is the parable 
of the mote and the beam over again. One of M. 
Prudhomme's peculiarities, according to Henri Mon- 
nier, who created him, is his readiness to defend the 
institutions of his country, and if needs be, to attack 
them. If Gambetta played the dual part of assailant 
and defender with less diabolical ingenuity than the 
Florentine statesman, and greater aplomb than the 
ridiculous bourgeois, it was because he was intellectu- 



My Paris Note-Book. 225 

ally below the one and above the other. Be this as it 
may ; to those who have followed me in this somewhat 
long digression, it will be clear that but for the revival of 
the deputy's stipend under the Second' RepubHc, there 
would have been no political Gambetta, and perhaps 
no Third Republic. One of the innumerable instances 
in history of small effects producing great causes. 

The Second Empire treated its legislators in a more 
lavish way than the Second Republic. The stipend of 
9000 francs per annum was increased to 12,500 francs 
for six months, and 2500 for each month exceeding that 
term. In addition to this, the cost of the refreshment 
rooms was entirely borne by the State, and the ' ' inner 
legislator" so well^ looked after, that the ^2000 per 
annum set apart for that purpose for the Chamber had 
invariably to be supplemented by a like sum. The 
most expensive wines and liqueurs^ the daintiest dishes, 
were to be had for the asking. There are numberless 
anecdotes of deputies absolutely living in the buvette 
during the sessions, and not spending a halfpenny for 
their food until dinner-time. This went on until the 
end of 1 87 1, at which time some members more con- 
scientious than the rest, concluded that it was scarcely 
consistent with their dignity to burden the nation with 
their keep, and the committee of ways and means of 
the Chamber introduced a bill providing for the main- 
tenance of the refreshment room by the deputies them- 
selves. Upon the face of it the measure was so equi- 
table that the Chamber did not dare to throw it out, but 
the majority, who objected to pay for their gorging, 
defeated the real drift of the proposed reform by voting 
the magnificent contribution of five francs per month 
for each deputy, to be disbursed, of course, by the 
deputy himself. 



226 My Paris Note-Book. 

In those days the number of deputies was consider- 
ably less than it is now ; fortunately, for at the end of 
the first three months there was a deficit of 8000 francs. 
It was no use to try to amend the new bill, least of all, 
to appeal to the deputies' generosity. Then Quaestor 
Baze hit upon a novel idea, a flash of genius as it were. 
He conferred with his two colleagues, and next day all 
the expensive wines and spirits were effaced from the 
list. The pastry, which would have done credit to a 
Rumpelmayer or a Rouz6, disappeared at the same 
time ; the brioches were not only reduced in size, but 
made more "stodgy;" the sandwiches, on the other 
hand, gained in thickness — that is the bread thereof, 
but the meat became a mere film. One facetious deputy 
said that they reminded him of Sarah Bernhardt on a 
cold winter's night — "all wraps." Of course, there 
was an outcry, an indignant protest, but the quaestors 
stood firm ; they showed the accounts, and Quaestor 
Baze is said to have lapsed into relevant, witty poetry 
on that day, the only instance on record of his having 
forsaken the safe road of prose. He struck an attitude, 
and declaimed La Fontaine's lines : — 

" La cigale ay ant chante 
Tout I'ete, 
Se trouva fort depourvue 
Quand la bise fut venue." 

The argument was unanswerable ; the deputies had to 
give in, and at present the quaestors manage to make 
both ends meet, nearly, though not quite ; for their 
contribution of twopence per day entitles the deputies 
to a practically unlimited supply of non-alcoholic drinks 
of all kinds, refreshing cordials at which the ordinary 
Englishman would probably sneer, but which French- 



My Paris Note-Book. 227 

men largely imbibe at their cafis. In addition to this, 
there is excellent claret, at the rate of about ten bottles 
a day ; equally excellent beer in unrestricted quantity, 
though it costs nearly as much as the wine ; beef-tea ; 
coffee, with its accompanying small glass of cognac ; 
delicious rolls and butter, brioches^ sandwiches, tea and 
milk, &c. , &c. The quantity of beef allowed for the 
beef-tea is twenty-five pounds per day ; the milk is re- 
stricted to eight quarts ; the rolls and brioches to a 
hundred and fifty of each. But there is ordinary bread 
^^ a disc7^Hion,^^ ad libitum, as we, with our fondness 
for Latin phrases, have it, which ordinary bread means, 
of course, the best French bread ; nor are there any 
questions asked about butter, coffee, tea, and the rest. 

Thus far the management of the commissariat de- 
partment at the Palais-Bourbon. The difference in 
other matters between the latter and St. Stephen's is 
not less striking. I have already pointed out that the 
French deputy chooses his seat at the beginning of the 
session, and retains possession of it throughout. Of 
course he starts by selecting a position among the 
group or groups to which he belongs. At his debut he 
is generally taken in hand by a friend or sponsor, who 
asks him to which group he means to belong. When 
Lamartine made his first appearance in the Chamber of 
Deputies in 1832, he was asked w4th which party he 
was going to throw in his lot. * ' With the parti 
social,'^ was the answer. This did not mean the so- 
cialistic party, as the term is understood at present, 
but, whatever it meant, the term had never been heard 
in a Parliamentary assembly. ' ' Social ?' ' remarked his 
interlocutor, ''what does it mean? — it is merely a 
word." "No, it is more than that — it's an idea." 
* ' Maybe ; but where are you going to sit ? There 



228 My Paris Note-Book. 

seems to be no room for you in any part of the Cham- 
ber." " Very well, then I'll hang on by the ceiling." 
A French deputy must belong to a group or groups, for 
many members belong to two or three different fac- 
tions ; for instance, a man may be affiliated to the Re- 
pubHcan Union and the Radical Left at the same time, 
and so forth. I spoke a little while ago of the attempt 
of M. Pradie to found a '' Cave of Adullam," but M. 
Pradi6 would have felt highly indignant if any one had 
designated himself and his couple of followers by any 
other name than that of a group. The Biblical term 
was never thought of, albeit that a journalist said — " It 
is not a group, but a few political wallflowers on a 
sofa." 

Roughly speaking, then, the Chamber may be di- 
vided into three sections ; I cannot call them parties, 
and will not call them factions. There are the Moderate 
Republicans, who sit in the Centre ; the Advanced Re- 
pubHcans, who occupy the Left, facing the President ; 
and the Reactionaries, i.e.^ the partisans of the Mon- 
archical and Imperialist regimes^ who are enthroned on 
the Right. Unless some very startling miracle occur, 
the latter are not likely to see one of their own adhe- 
rents included in a ministry ; but even if this were to 
occur, say if the whole of an Administration were to be 
composed of Reactionaries or Advanced Republicans, 
the various sections would retain their respective posi- 
tions in the Chamber, for there is no such custom as 
changing sides ; the permanent ministerial bench is the 
lowermost row of seats in the centre of the House. 
With the exception of the Ministers for War and Naval 
Affairs, a minister need not necessarily belong to either 
of the Chambers, though he generally does. The sol- 
dier or sailor, while he retains his commission, is not 



My Paris Note-Book. 229 

eligible for the Chamber of Deputies, though he may 
sit in the Senate. A minister has the right to speak in 
either House, but he can only vote with that to which 
he belongs. His acceptance of office does not entail 
his presenting himself for re-election, and the same rule 
holds good with Under-Secretaries of State ; but the 
bestowal of any other salaried appointment under Gov- 
ernment necessitates on the part of the recipient a fresh 
appeal to his constituents. Certain functionaries and dig- 
nitaries are ineligible in the constituencies of the prov- 
ince or '' department" — to use the modern topographi- 
cal designation — in which they exercise their functions ; 
for instance, the late Mgr. Freppel, Bishop of Angers, 
could have represented no part of the Department of 
the Maine-et-Loire, and even if he had vacated his see, 
would have had to wait for six months after his resigna- 
tion before he could have presented himself for election. 
The same restrictions apply to nearly all the occupants 
of the Bench, University and scholastic officials, pre- 
fects, &c., &c. 

The system of voting is altogether different from that 
of the House of Commons. To begin with, there is 
no ' ' pairing, ' ' there are no division lobbies, the Patron- 
age Secretary or "whip" does not exist. On each 
member's desk there lie two packets of tickets — one 
blue, the other white ; they are used for voting if 
necessary. They bear the member' s name. The white 
mean ''Yes," the blue ''No." These tickets are not 
always used ; for there are at least two modes of voting 
without them, namely, that a mains levees (by a show 
of hands), and that oi par as sis et leve (by standing up 
or keeping seated). Each of these modes may be re- 
peated twice and no more ; if, after that, the result is 
still considered open to doubt, the scrutin public (a di- 



230 My Paris Note-Book. 

vision in due form) is resorted to, though even then the 
secret vote may be claimed, provided a written request 
to that effect be handed to the President ; it has to be 
signed by fifty members if in the Chamber, by twenty 
if in the Senate. In both these cases the voting urns 
are carried round by the ushers — the members drop 
their tickets into them ; in the one case the names of 
the voters are read out by the President, in the other 
they remain a secret. But this latter way is rarely de- 
manded, except on a question affecting a member per- 
sonally. Finally, there is the appel nominal, which 
may be secret or the reverse. It is never insisted on 
except in important divisions when the supporters or 
opponents of a measure wish to prevent voting by 
proxy — an established though altogether illegal custom, 
which is greatly facilitated by friends sitting together as 
they do. The appel nominal provokes a good deal of 
grumbling, for it wastes much time ; each member being 
obliged to leave his seat as his name is called out, walk 
up to the tribune, where the urns are standing, and 
record his vote there. 

This expedient, however much disliked by the ma- 
jority of the deputies themselves, is rather relished by 
the audience, especially by the female portion thereof; 
it provides an entr'acte which allows of their admirers 
paying them a visit, for even now the female element is 
very much en Evidence in the first tier of galleries of the 
Chamber. The grandes dames de par la troisieme r^- 
publique follow the example of the grandes dames de 
par le monde of the last years of Louis XVI. ; they re- 
pair habitually to the Legislature, but the motive of the 
former's presence there is probably altogether different 
from that of the latter. In the last decade of the eigh- 
teenth century the fair sex came to criticise ; in that of 



My Paris Note-Book. 231 

the nineteenth they come to admire. I have already- 
pointed out that the appearance in the public thorough- 
fares of the erstwhile Nana, or nx^x^ petite bourgeois e.v^ho 
has been pitchforked by circumstances into high places, 
is fraught with certain discomforts to herself, and per- 
haps to her husband, who may be a shining light under 
the present regime. The Boulevards, the Bois, and 
Longchamps, having been made unavailable for the dis- 
play of "ravishing toilettes," Madame la Ministre is 
compelled to fall back upon such resorts as may guaran- 
tee her from the disagreeable intrusion of her former 
familiars. The Chamber is pretty safe in that respect. 
La grande cocotte goes thither occasionally, but her 
presence presents no danger from Madame la Ministre' s 
point of view. As a rule, Madame la Ministre and her 
companions are somewhat too demonstrative in their ex- 
pressions of approval or the reverse, in spite of the 
regulations that prohibit manifestations of public opi- 
nion. Madame la Ministre and her companions are ut- 
terly unable to grasp the real drift of the proceedings, 
but they know when they are bored or amused, and do 
not scruple to say so aloud. Their only critical faculty 
is exercised on the .personal appearance of the stream 
of fast-succeeding deputies in the tribune, and on the 
various beverages placed by the speaker's side by the 
assiduous attendant specially told off for that duty. A 
whole essay might be written on him and on the decoc- 
tions he dispenses, but again, I have not sufficient space 
at my disposal. I know, however, that he is frequently 
consulted by letter by Madame la Ministre and Madame 
la Deputee. The men of importance are almost sure to 
find their decoctions handed to them at these ladies' re- 
ceptions. If there be nothing to criticise or to observe for 
them in that way, Xh^grandes dames de par la republique 



232 My Paris Note-Book. 

carry on their conversations in a tone loud enough to be 
heard in the journaUsts' box. 

As a rule, the majority of French women err in that re- 
spect. In 1 8 14, President Lain6 was obliged to suspend 
the debates because the voices of the ladies drowned 
those of the speakers, and because the crowd, unable to 
find room in the galleries, invaded the Chamber. A 
member proposed to exclude the female element once 
for all. There was a general cry of indignation, and M. 
Hericourt de Thury, to whom France owes the restora- 
tion of the Palais des Thermes and of the Hotel de 
Cluny, and to whom archaeologists and antiquarians of 
all nations are still more greatly indebted, pleaded the 
cause of the culprits by reminding his hearers that the 
ancient Gauls consulted their womankind in their de- 
liberations. In 1820 there was a similar attempt to close 
the Chamber to women, which proved equally unsuc- 
cessful. At the National Assembly at Versailles, Prin- 
cess Troubetzkoi never failed to make her appearance 
when M. Thiers was inscribed on the list of speakers, 
and Madame Edmond Adam was equally punctual when 
Gambetta was on the programme. Mmes. de Rainne- 
ville and d' Harcourt did not even pretend to discrimi- 
nate ; they attended nearly every meeting. All these 
gentlewomen have disappeared. The last time I saw 
Madame de Rainneville was at the trial of Madame 
Clovis Hughes for the murder of the pettifogging lawyer 
Morin, who had slandered her. Madame de Rainneville 
was with Princess Hohenlohe, the then German ambas- 
sadress. I was enabled to render both a slight service, 
and on my attempting to resume my place among the 
public (there was no place reserved for journalists), was 
jeered at for being polite to a German and to an aristo- 
crat. I should not be surprised at a similar demonstra- 



My Paris Note-Book. 233 

tion taking place at the Chamber any day, and the 
woman of birth and breeding is probably not anxious to 
incur such a risk, so she leaves the coast free to Madame 
le Ministre and Madame la D^putee, who, at any rate, 
will not be the objects of hostile remarks from the demo- 
crats occupying part of the second gallery. They may 
be objects of envy, but that is all. 

I think it was the Earl of Beaconsfield who said that 
"no speech, however eloquent, ever influenced a divi- 
sion ;' ' the French deputy of the last forty or fifty years 
would seem to have made up his mind not even to be 
tempted into being converted. When, in 1848, Eugene 
Sue, full of philanthropic and democratic enthusiasm, 
and with his convictions strong upon him, took his seat 
among the " Lefts," he seated himself on the first day 
of the session by the side of Victor Hugo. While he 
chatted with his neighbour, the Chamber was discussing 
a bill of some kind. When the measure was put to the 
vote, the poet, to Sue's great surprise, held up his hand, 
then rose from his seat and voted. ' ' Did you hear what 
the last speaker said?" asked Sue. " Not a single syl- 
lable of it, ' ' was the reply. * ' Then how can you possibly 
vote?" ''Oh, that's easy enough. Do you see that 
little gentleman with spectacles, facing you ?" '' Yes." 
"Well, it's he who virtually tells me which way to vote. 
As we are invariably of a different opinion, I remain 
seated if he gets up, and when he remains seated I get 
up on trust. He listens for both of us." Only those 
who have been compelled to follow the debates in the 
French Chamber will be able to understand the drift 
underlying Victor Hugo's system of getting some one 
to listen for him, for though French Parliamentary 
oratory is on an average superior in fluency, diction, 
and elegance to English, it breeds, in the long run, a 

20* 



234 My Paris Note-Book. 

painful weariness. The words and sentences * * come in 
procession," as George Eliot would have said; they 
neither stumble nor try to pick themselves up on the 
speaker's lips ; there are no straggling adjectives and 
laggard verbs, but the ensemble^ admirably arranged as 
it is, lacks humour and thoughtfulness. In the whole 
of the present Chamber there is not a single speaker, 
even approaching distantly such a man as the late 
Ernest Renan. With Ernest Picard, Thiers, Gambetta, 
and Freppel, the race of Parliamentary speakers culti- 
vating the bantering style of which Beaconsfield, Eugene 
Rouher, Windthorst, and even Bismarck were such 
masters, seems to have died out. C16menceau can flout 
and jeer, he can hit harder, perhaps, than any Parlia- 
mentary debater alive ; but there would not be a drop 
of the milk of human kindness in an hour's speech, if 
he could be induced to make one of that duration. The 
Comte de Mun is almost sublime every now and then, 
but nearly always over the heads of three-fourths of the 
Chamber. Floquet is on an oratorical rocking-horse, 
and Brisson on Balaam's ass ; Douville-Maillefeu lets 
ofl" fireworks, but before one has time to recognise one's 
bearings, everything is dark again. Edouard Lockroy, 
like the late Paul Bert, is always in a rage, and inflicts a 
long speech for the sake of launching two or three epi- 
grams. Both Goblet and Ribot have the making of 
good orators in them if they would but divest themselves 
of the idea that the whole of Europe is hanging on their 
words. In short, only Clemenceau's lieutenant (Camille 
Pelletan), Paul de Cassagnac, L6on Renault, Andrieux, 
and a few others, in all a half-dozen, are worth listening 
to from the Englishman' s point of view. 



My Paris Note-Book. 235 



CHAPTER X. 

Three Presidents of the Republic — A test of the popularity of an 
eminent man in France — The theatres as a barometer in times 
of public excitement — The receipts at the theatres on the day 
of Mirabeau's death— On the day of Gambetta's funeral— On 
the day of Thiers' funeral — Not a single kindly note about 
Adolphe Thiers— An epitaph attributed to M. Victorien Sardou 
— Thiers and Louis Philippe— a mot of Alphonse Karr— The 
Charivari's opinion of Thiers— The real aim of Thiers' life — 
Old Prince Metternich on Thiers— Thiers and Mac-Mahon during 
the Commune— Thiers and Louis Napoleon— Louis Napoleon's 
opinion — A conversation between these two— Thiers and Mr. 
Senior— His dread of Mr. Senior's publication— His family— 
Mac-Mahon— Madame de Mac-Mahon— The story of the Comte 
de Chambord's famous manifesto— Mac-Mahon's story of the 
plebiscite of 1852— Mac-Mahon's genealogy— Mac-Mahon the 
real founder of the Third Republic " in spite of himself "—Mac- 
Mahon's title— Mac-Mahon's modesty. 

I CAN only speak of three out of the four Presidents 
who have occupied the Elys6e-Bourbon since the nom- 
inal foundation of the Third Republic — I have already 
pointed out that there is a discrepancy between the 
nominal and virtual foundations. M. Sadi Carnot is a 
stranger to me, although I have spoken to him once or 
twice when he was the fidus Achates of M. Daniel Wil- 
son, the son-in-law of M. Carnot' s immediate predecessor 
in the Presidential chair. I know nothing of M. Carnot' s 
mental attainments, but I believe him to be an honest, 
straightforward gentleman in the best but at the same 
time narrowest acceptation of the word. In fact, I 
believe him to be too honest and straightforward for the 



236 My Paris Note-Book. 

arduous task he has undertaken. In that respect he is 
hke the late Marshal Mac-Mahon, though their honesty 
manifests itself in different ways. 

If I had to sum up the motives of the four Presidents 
for accepting office in as few lines as possible, I would 
do it as follows : — M. Thiers wanted both the power and 
the money. Marshal Mac-Mahon wanted neither the 
power nor the money. M. Grevy was indifferent to the 
power, but anxious for the money. M. Carnot is indif- 
ferent to the money, but likes the power. 

In France the receipts at the theatres may be taken 
as a kind of thermometer or barometer of public opinion. 
"Next morning, Monday (Feb. 21, '48), there seemed 
to be a lull in the storm, but on the Tuesday the signs 
of the coming hurricane were plainly visible on the 
horizon. I had occasion to pass before the Comedie- 
Fran9aise. The ominous black-lettered slip of yellow 
paper, with the word Reldche, was pasted across the 
evening's bill, I remembered the words of my old 
tutor — ' When the Com^die-Frangaise shuts its doors in 
perilous times, it is like the battening down of the 
hatches in dirty weather. ' There is mischief brewing. 
... I saw little on the Wednesday night (Feb. 23, '48) 
of what was going on. Being tired of wandering, and 
feeling no inclination for bed, I turned into the Gymnase. 
There was Bressant, and Rose Cheri, and Arnal ; I 
would surely be able to spend a few pleasant hours. 
But, alack and alas, the house presented a very doleful 
appearance — dead-heads to a man, and very few of 
these ; people who, if they could not fiddle themselves, 
like Nero when Rome was burning, would go to hear 
fiddling under no matter what circumstances, provided 
they were not asked to pay. ... I did not stay long. 
. . . When I got to the Boulevard Montmartre I turned 



My Paris Note-Book. 237 

into the Theatre des Vari6tes. They were playing 
Le Suisse de Marly ^ Le Marquis de Lauzun, Les Ex- 
tremes se touchent, and Les Vieux Peehes. I had seen 
the second piece and the last piece at least a dozen 
times, but was always ready to see them again, for the 
sake of Virginie Dejazet in the one, of Bouffe in the 
other. The house, like the Gymnase, was almost 
empty. "^ 

On the day of Mirabeau's death, though he had held 
no official position, the theatres closed their doors ; on 
the day of Gambetta's funeral, the receipts at the thea- 
tres fell considerably ; on the day of Thier's funeral, the 
theatres were crowded from floor to ceiling. The nation 
was not affected by his death one way or the other, and 
it is very doubtful whether, with the exception of his 
widow, his sister-in-law, and his old friend Mignet, there 
was a single Frenchman or Frenchwoman who shed a 
tear. Among the many unpublished anecdotes relating 
to Adolphe Thiers which I have in my possession, there 
is not one testifying to a generous action on his part. 
Among the opinions respecting him, expressed by men 
of widely-divergent temperament, character, and political 
bias, there is not a single note of unqualified praise, 
except from those who, in their self-fed enthusiasm at 
the advent of the Third Republic, constituted themselves 
his blind panegyrists, conveniently forgetful that this 
foundation of the Republic was with him only a means 
to an end — that end, arbitrary power, 

" Ci-git un tres fin politique, 
Qui, pour regner tout seul, fonda la Republique," 

wrote, a few days after his death, a very keen observ^er, 

who was supposed to be none other than M. Victorien 

» " An Englishmen in Paris," vol. i. ch. x. 



238 My Paris Note-Book. 

Sardou. It would be difficult to sum up Thiers' so- 
called patriotic aspirations more concisely and more 
truthfully. The two lines contain, as it were, the con- 
densed criticism on all his actions for more than forty- 
five years. No French statesman of modern days was 
ever more impatient of contradiction than he ; he meant 
to be the absolute master, and when he became the 
Prime Minister of Louis Philippe, he immediately set to 
work to reduce the King's influence to zero, nay, "to 
hide the monarch up his sleeve' ' by the specious formula, 
*' The King reigns but does not govern," which drew 
from Alphonse Karr the remark, ' ' II regne comme la 
corniche regne autour d'un plafond." It is almost im- 
possible to translate the sentence literally. '' He reigns 
like a cornice runs round a ceiling' ' does not convey the 
clever satire of the original, the gist of which is that the 
ceiling would be just as useful without the cornice, 
though, of course, not so ornamental. Thiers, how- 
ever, meant not only to be the ceiling, but claimed the 
right to detach himself from the cornice, and from the 
rest of the constitutional fabric as well, whenever he felt 
disposed to crush his ministerial colleagues and the 
deputies themselves for opposing his will. Initiative, 
these colleagues had none ; Thiers meddled with every- 
thing, encroached upon everybody's privilege, w2iS posi- 
tively ubiquitous, and made himself ' * a general nui- 
sance." " If I were to put my shoes in the chimney on 
Christmas eve, I should find Thiers ensconced in one 
next morning," said Louis Philippe. One day the 
King revolted. ' ' Seeing that it is to be duel between 
us," he exclaimed, "I'll accept it ; but remember that, 
though you may pass your sword through my body, you 
will very likely perish by the very wound you will inflict 
upon me." This is the same man who in '72, at a din- 



My Paris Note-Book. 239 

ner-party given in his honour by the Due d'Aumale, 
began his Httle speech by alluding to *' the children of 
his well-beloved King' ' . . . &c. , &c. Justice compels 
me to admit that * ' the words stuck in his throat. ' ' It 
was one of the two occasions in his life when his ' ' glib- 
ness deserted him ;' ' the other was on the day of his 
reception as a member of the Academic. For Le Chari- 
vari had summed up Thiers' truly marvellous ' ' gift of 
the gab" in its first number, and in one short para- 
graph. ** The Minister of the Interior is no doubt the 
man who in a given time can ' spout' the greatest num- 
ber of words and ' squirt' the largest number of verbal 
* blue-bottles' upon the air. He is, moreover, the man 
who can talk for the longest period without taking the 
trouble to think. As a rule, one idea is all-sufftcient for 
him ; one idea and a tumbler of water with a lump of 
sugar in it. With these, M. Thiers will go on * prating' 
for twenty-four hours at ' a stretch,' like the skilful wire- 
drawer who from an ounce of metal will produce twenty- 
four leagues of wire." 

To return for a moment to Thiers, and to that par- 
ticular period of his career which may well have been 
the turning-point of his so-called political convictions. 
Finding himself unable to "bully" — there is not an- 
other word for it, though with a shrill treble like his it 
sounds somewhat ridiculous — the King, he bethought 
himself of a regime in which there would be no King 
to bully, in other words, of a Republic with himself as 
the protector and absolute master. Old Prince Metter- 
nich had an inkHng of this when he called him ^' 2in 
Napoleon civil '^ and to show that time brought no 
modification to the Austrian diplomatist's mind on the 
subject, we have but to turn to his despatches to Count 
Apponyi in the year '40, in which he writes that " M. 



240 My Paris Note-Book. 

Thiers likes to be compared to Napoleon.^' ''Guizot 
is too apt to confound doctrines with principles," he 
says elsewhere ; ' * Thiers, on the other hand, bends 
both to what he considers his personal interest." 

Thiers was compelled to bide his time, for his pres- 
tige, however great, did not affect the masses who re- 
membered the part he had played during "the three 
glorious days" in July 1830, when he had baulked 
them of the Republic they fondly expected to see arise 
on the ruins of the Bourbon monarchy ; and, short of 
these masses, no civilian, not even in France, can or- 
ganise a revolt or revolution against the established 
powers unless he have the army at his back. At no 
period of Thiers' life would the army have as much as 
budged at his bidding. But for the timely presence of 
Mac-Mahon in March '71, the Commune might, nay, 
probably would, have ended differently. It is not libel- 
ling that honest soldier's memory to say that, having 
been absolved from his allegiance to the Empire, he 
would not have lent himself to the establishment of a 
republic if Thiers had not in some way made it patent 
to him that this republic was only to be a stage on the 
road to a monarchical restoration. 

Be this as it may, it is very certain that in '48 Thiers 
did nothing to prevent the overthrow of his "well- 
beloved King," that, in fact, he aggravated the situa- 
tion by refusing to form a Ministry when Louis Philippe 
requested him to do so on the evening of the 23rd 
February, and that the King commented upon the fact, 
though more in sorrow than in anger. Louis Philippe 
subsequently admitted that he was *'a fool for his 
pains. ' ' I am quoting his own words. ' ' I was vir- 
tually like the man who appeals to a so-called friend to 
prevent a divorce between himself and his wife, while 



My Paris Note-Book. 241 

the friend is only bent upon one thing — to marry the 
woman the moment she is free from the other." It 
taUies with the remark made twenty-seven years later 
by a keen observer of Thiers' career for many years, by 
M. Charles Merrnau, the editor of Le Constitutionnel — 
' ' Thiers meant to found a Conservative Republic, and 
to marry her in the capacity of President. ' ' 

The projected nuptials — projected on one side at any 
rate — were knocked on the head by the advent of an- 
other suitor — Louis Napoleon. Thiers gave way, for 
the new pretendu had long ago promised him that, in 
the event of the pretendiC s marriage, he, Thiers, 
should be V ami de la maison — and in France V ami de 
la maison has generally got ' ' a better time of it " than 
the legitimate spouse. ' ' C est le plus heureux des 
trois." I am alluding to Louis Napoleon's miscarried 
attempt at Boulogne when he issued a ' ' decree " " de- 
posing" the Bourbons for ever, and appointing the 
historian of the * * Consulate and the Empire ' ' chief of 
the Provisional Government. 

Thiers did not abandon his cherished dream, though. 
In four years France would have to choose another 
President, and he was looking forward, as he thought 
secretly, to that period, in order to have that dream 
realised. I append one of my uncle's notes merely, 
dated '53, consequently shortly after M. Thiers re- 
turned to France from his exile. 

* ' The other day I was talking to the Emperor about 
Thiers and his return, and asking what the effect of 
that return would be. ' I am at a loss to guess, ' was 
the answer. * That' s why I allowed him to return ; it 
will not be so difficult to watch him from near as from 
afar. He will be quiet for a little while, and then he'll 
plot once more against me, for as long as there is no 

L ^ 21 



242 My Paris Note-Book. 

regime in France with Thiers at the very summit of it, 
nay, with Thiers as its incarnation, no monarch nor 
President will ever enjoy immunity from Thiers' at- 
tempts to oust him. Thiers has made up his mind to 
be President of the French Republic before he dies. 
To those who know him, the thing admits of no doubt ; 
his every action, his every word betrays the wish. 
Shortly after my election to the Presidency, he came to 
me one morning on no apparent business ; in fact, he 
came far too frequently, and he had always some idea 
to suggest. After a little desultory talk, by which I 
was not deceived in the least, he came to the point. 
He asked me what official costume I was going to 
adopt, whether it was true that I was hesitating between 
that of a general of division and that of a general of the 
National Guard. I said I was not quite decided, that I 
would leave the matter in abeyance for a little while. 
* Take my advice, ' he said at last ; * adopt neither the 
one nor the other. I feel convinced that the nation 
will be delighted to see its civic chief-magistrate adopt 
civilian dress. Besides, if you were to adopt a military 
costume, your successor might be awkwardly situated if 
he could not do the same.' It was telling me in so 
many words," the Emperor went on, ''Til be suc- 
ceeding you in four years, and I cannot very well put 
myself in a general's uniform.' " 

M. Thiers, I frankly confess, is not a figure that 
appeals to me. I would fain have done with it as soon 
as possible. I like it less than Talleyrand's, for Talley- 
rand had some private virtues which were utterly lack- 
ing in Thiers. I prefer the cynic, and even the sceptic, 
to the hypocrite, and, in my opinion, Thiers was an 
arch-hypocrite. Only in two instances does he un- 
bosom himself freely, and in both instances he is sorry 



My Paris Note-Book. 243 

for it almost the moment afterwards. The first time 
(in 1850) it is to M. Benoit-Champy, who, during the 
greater part of the Second Empire, was the President 
of the Civil Tribunal of the Department of the Seine. 
Next morning he inquires whether M. Benoit-Champy 
is a trustworthy man, likely to keep a secret. The 
second time (in 1852) his confidant of the moment is 
Mr. Senior, whose valuable book I have not by me, 
though I remember pretty well the substance of the 
conversation to which I would draw attention. It is to 
the effect that his (Thiers') authority was frequently 
impaired by his being suspected of working for the 
return of the constitutional monarchy. Thiers declares 
the suspicion to be unfounded, and categorically denies 
being an Orleanist. He admits to having a sincere re- 
gard and liking for the Duchesse d' Orleans (the Comte 
de Paris' mother) and her children, but he disclaims all 
allegiance to the Orleans family, which has not the 
slightest claim on him, which has always persecuted 
him, which he has always opposed. Two years pre- 
viously, in the conversation with M. Benoit-Champy, 
he does not broach a word of having opposed the 
Orleans family ; on the contrary, he says that he has 
served them all his life, though his services have been 
rewarded with ingratitude. Nevertheless ' ' he would 
hail the return of Louis Philippe with joy" (textual). 

"In virtue of my birth," he goes on to say to Mr. 
Senior, "I belong to the people." (Another false- 
hood, in spite of ' ' Larousse, ' ' which states that he was 
the son of a dock-labourer at Marseilles ; and of Balzac, 
who averred that Thiers was the son of a blacksmith at 
Aix). At the end of this chapter I will give a few par- 
ticulars of Thiers' family. I will do the same for Mac- 
Mahon, and, if possible, for Gr^vy. Those concerning 



244 ^^ Paris Note-Book. 

Thiers are almost unknown, but I need not insist upon 
them here. 

This man, professedly of the people, confides, more- 
over, to Mr. Senior, that he is a Bonapartist by educa- 
tion, and that he belongs to the aristocracy by taste, 
habits, and association. He disclaims all allegiance to 
the bou7'geoisie^ as he has disclaimed all allegiance to 
the Orleans family. '' I have no sympathy whatsoever 
with the middle classes," he says in so many words, 
" nor with the political systems that give them power." 
The fusionists fared equally badly at his hands, for they 
had excluded from their programme the adoption of the 
Comte de Paris ; they pinned their faith on the chances 
of the Comte de Chambord (otherwise Henri V.), in 
which chances Thiers did not believe at all, because the 
Comte de Chambord has no child. ''In fact," winds 
up Thiers, and this last sentence is textual, for in the 
study of him it cannot fail to impress itself accurately 
on the memory, " in fact, as far as France is concerned, 
I believe in nothing" (" Je ne crois a rien en France"). 

But, as in the case of his conversation with M. 
Benoit-Champy, Thiers would fain recall his words as 
soon as he has uttered them. He is virtually fright- 
ened at his own frankness, and his mind knows no rest 
afterwards, lest these words should go forth to the 
world. He is aware that the eminent Englishman to 
whom he has revealed his inmost thoughts keeps a 
diary, and for the rest of his life the dread of this diary 
being published, and by its revelations overtoppHng his 
fabric of deception, haunts him by day and night. 
Almost every Englishman with whom Thiers comes in 
contact during that period is cross-examined to that 
effect. For hypocrite though he be, face to face with 
himself he cherishes no illusions as to the degree of 



My Paris Note-Book. 245 

confidence with which he inspires the various dynastic 
factions in France. He may and does attempt to 
traverse the charges of mendacity and plotting preferred 
against him by Frenchmen, by charging them in his 
turn with interested motives ; he may even do this with 
exalted personages, such as the Princess Metternich 
and the Prince de Joinville, but he feels that such a 
counter-accusation would absolutely fail against the 
eminent professor of political economy at Oxford, 
whom every one of note in France knows to be an 
absolutely impartial observer, and incapable of distort- 
ing facts and statements. For six months after the 
death of Mr. Senior, which happened in 1864, Thiers 
was in a most violent state of excitement, which never 
subsided entirely ; but the publication of the dreaded 
* ' Conversations' ' was spared to him after all, for they 
appeared only a twelvemonth after his death. 

Enough. I have been led into penning an indictment 
when I only intended to write some anecdotal notes, and 
it is too late to repair the mistake with regard to the man 
who, to use the words of Lamartine, ' ' had sufficient salt- 
petre in him to blow up ten governments ; who carried 
the contempt of his own party to a length surprising in 
so young a politician. ' ' (This was said in the spring of 
1 830. ) ' ' For that contempt, ' ' added the poet, ' ' comes, 
as a rule, only with old age. ' ' 

I mean to sketch Thiers as President of the Republic 
amidst his surroundings at the Prefecture at Versailles, 
and at the Elysee-Bourbon ; meanwhile I append the 
promised particulars of his family history. 

Louis- Adolphe Thiers was born in Marseilles on the 
15th April 1797, of parents who were apparently in a 
good position, for the civil register describes the father, 

21* 



246 My Paris Note-Book. 

Pierre-Louis-Marie Thiers, as a proprietaire (anglic^^ 
an owner of landed or household property). On the 
face of it, this looks probable enough, seeing that 
Thiers' maternal grandfather was an advocate to the 
provincial parliament, and keeper of the Marseilles 
archives. Thiers' mother, whose name was Marie- 
Madaleine Amic, was the daughter of a notable mer- 
chant of the same city, who for some time occupied 
the important post of what at present we should term 
the President of the Marseilles Chamber of Commerce 
at Constantinople, where he married the maternal aunt 
of the poets Joseph and Andr6 Chenier. Hence the 
legends about Thiers' obscure and humble origin are 
simply so much fiction. 

But though Thiers' parentage is by no means envel- 
oped in mystery, Thiers' father would not have been 
out of place as the hero of a novel, or better still, of an 
extravagant melodrama, such as our grandparents loved 
to see. At the birth of his son, Pierre-Louis-Marie 
Thiers, proprietaire, is absent from Marseilles. In 
those days the law required that the new-born child 
should testify to its own existence by being taken to 
the Mairie, accompanied by its father and two wit- 
nesses. In this instance, citizen Marie-Simeon Rostan, 
officier de sante— read surgeo7i, as distinct from physician 
— takes the father's place, and presents the babe to the 
official charged with registering its birth. In fact, 
neither the son nor mother sets eyes on or hears 
from Pierre-Louis-Marie Thiers for more than thirty 
years. It is only after 1830, when Thiers has started 
on his political career, that ''papa" presents himself 
one fine morning, and in a scene which reminds one 
of that of Les Saltimbanques of Dumersan and Varin, 
claims relationship. 



My Paris Note-Book. 247 

What had become of Pierre-Louis-Marle Thiers dur- 
ing those thirty years ? In 1879, consequently two years 
after the death of the famous historian, M. Achille Gas- 
taldy of Mentone, whose mother was first-cousin to M. 
Thiers on the father's side, tried to tell us in a brochure, 
dedicated to the historian's widow. But the author had 
frequently to confess himself at a loss, and was probably 
compelled to put a curb on his pen, seeing to whom he 
dedicated his little book. It would appear, though, that 
Thiers senior travelled a great deal during those thirty 
years, and was engaged in many speculations, good and 
bad, mostly bad. So far M. Gastaldy. If during that 
time Thiers pere did not increase his store, he at any 
rate increased his progeny, to the discomfort of his fa- 
mous son, who subsequently seems to have had all of 
them on his hands. Not that he provided very royally 
for them or for his mother, but, nevertheless, they, the 
brothers and sisters, gave him considerable trouble. In 
' ' An Englishman in Paris, ' ' there is an account of one 
of these sisters who, in the forties, opened a table-d' hote 
on the Boulevards, and proclaimed far and wide her 
relationship to the statesman. That was Mme. Ripert, 
who claimed to be the legitimate daughter of Pierre- 
Louis-Marie Thiers by an Italian lady, whom he, her 
father, had married at Bologna. Mme. Ripert was un- 
doubtedly a match for le petit bonhomme, for though she 
failed to draw money from him — a feat which all those 
who knew him voted to be almost impossible — the sign- 
board of the table-d' hSte, on which the relationship was 
duly set forth, disappeared after a little while, and she 
and her husband were provided with snug berths — of 
course under Government. Mme. Brunet, another half- 
sister, but by a different mother, did not fare quite so well. 
During the life of her half-brother, the Government gave 



248 My Paris Note-Book. 

her a small tobacco shop ; but in 1883, when she herself 
was past eighty, she was very poor ; nevertheless the 
very rich Mile. Dosne, the heiress, I believe, to most of 
Thiers' property, positively refused to come to her as- 
sistance. A long correspondence ensued in the papers, 
and Mme. Brunet proved conclusively, at any rate some- 
what too conclusively to be pleasant to Thiers' ungener- 
ous sister-in-law, that she was Thiers' half-sister. Her 
mother was a demoiselle Eleonore Euphrasie Chevalier, 
cousin to the well-known deputy Dupont (de I'Eure). 

The two half-brothers, Germain and Louiset Thiers, 
were the fruits of the marriage (?) of Pierre-Louis-Marie 
Thiers with the Italian lady. Germain, though I do not 
find it stated anywhere, must have been the non-com- 
missioned officer who, in 1822, divulged the plot of 
Colonel Caron for the deliverance of the prisoners im- 
plicated in the conspiracy of two years previously against 
the Bourbon monarchy, which conspiracy is known as 
the ' ' Conspiracy of Belfort. ' ' At any rate, I feel certain 
that this non-commissioned officer's name was Germain 
Thiers. Whether he was known at that time to his half- 
brother, Adolphe, I am unable to say ; but later on he 
was appointed Chief Secretary to the French consulate 
at Ancona. 

Louiset was not quite so useful a member of society. 
He had inherited his father's taste for travelling, and 
followed the occupation of a courier — that is, when he 
could get an engagement. When unemployed, he wor- 
ried his brother for money. His visits were paid in the 
early morning. But Thiers himself was the early worm, 
who refused to be caught loosening his purse-strings by 
no matter how early a bird, for he generally rose before 
five. Louiset managed, however, to squeeze a few louis 
out of him now and then. 



My Paris Note-Book. 249 

In the last paragraph but one I have placed a mark 
of interrogation behind the word marriage. Was Thiers 
senior really married to the Italian lady ? Was he also 
married to the cousin of Dupont (de 1' Eure) ? I have 
an idea he had gone through the ceremony of marriage 
with both women, else his famous son would not have 
assisted his father's offspring, even to the small extent 
he did. Thiers senior seems to have practised matri- 
monially what his son practised politically. He espoused 
any — every woman who gave him a chance, with the 
mental reservation of throwing her over when con- 
venient, just as Thiers junior espoused every regime 
which afforded him a chance of revelling in power. 
The father was a profligate carnally, the son a profligate 
poHtically. 

A far different man was Thiers' immediate successor 
in oflice. When endeavouring to point out the motives 
that swayed Thiers, Grevy, and Carnot in their accept- 
ance of the presidential dignity, I was bound to admit 
that, practically, Mac-Mahon had no motive at all, either 
personal or patriotic. He was not influenced by mone- 
tary considerations, albeit that he was comparatively a 
poor man. At his resignation his modest fortune was 
found to be seriously impaired, for he gave with a lavish 
hand ; and during his tenancy of the Elys^e, the expenses 
far exceeded the presidential income. Though by no 
means a profound thinker or a brilliant talker, Mac- 
Mahon had his fair share of sound common-sense — in 
the somewhat narrow meaning of the word, perhaps — 
and he fostered no illusions with regard to his poten- 
tiality of regenerating France, at any rate politically. 
After that, the reader may well ask why Marie- Patrice 
de Mac-Mahon did not decline the honour conferred 
upon him. 



250 My Paris Note-Book. 

It was either Colbert or Louvois who refused to give 
a certain nobleman the governorship of a province, on 
the ground that he was incapable of ruling his own wife. 
Part of the suffrages that made Mac-Mahon President 
of the Third Republic were given on the not altogether 
groundless assumption that in all but military matters 
Madame la Marechale ruled her husband. It was pretty- 
well the last attempt in France to import ' * petticoat 
influence' ' into politics, and the attempt — I cannot too 
much insist upon it, in view of what I have already said 
— was not due to the Republicans. The Duchesse de 
Magenta is a daughter of the house of Castries, whose 
militant Legitimism and ostentatious religious observ- 
ance go hand-in-hand. The partisans of the late Comte 
de Chambord were distinctly under the impression that 
in the Duchesse they had found another Jeanne d' Arc 
who this time would rid their country peaceably of their 
native enemies, as the peasant girl of Domr^my had 
endeavoured to drive out the alien. It is a moot-point 
with those who profess to know, whether Madame la 
Duchesse herself did not inspire the Legitimists with 
that idea. Such Republicans as voted for the Marshal, 
because almost the entire Left abstained from voting, 
formed a more correct estimate of the soldier's character. 
There was no doubt in their minds of his innate honesty. 
They knew that they had not elected a Cromwell, but 
they also knew that they had not elected a Monk, and 
that, "come what might," the Duchesse' s influence 
over her husband, however great, would fail to make a 
cat's-paw of him for the restoration either of a Bourbon, 
a d' Orleans, or a Bonaparte. 

They knew that, placed in a position of trust, his ob- 
stinate uprightness would get the better of his dynastic 
sentiments ; and General Fleury first, and the Comte de 



My Paris Note-Book. 251 

Chambord afterwards, found to their cost how correct 
the Rep ubH can's judgment had been. The erstwhile 
Master of the Horse to Napoleon III. was, to use the 
right expression, ' ' sent away with a flea in his ear' ' when 
he came to propose an Imperialist movement. The post- 
humous son of the Due de Berry {I' enfant du miracle) 
was treated even more unceremoniously, for, after wait- 
ing for three days at the Comte de Vaussay's in Ver- 
sailles, he had to return whence he came without as 
much as a glimpse of the President. * ' These things are 
as yet not written in the chronicles of nineteenth-century 
France. ' ' Nor is it generally known that it was then, and 
not until then, that ''the Henri V. whom Mac-Mahon 
spoilt in the making" penned his modern version of 
the fable of "The Sour Grapes" in the shape of a 
manifesto entitled " The White Flag." Such was the 
result of Mac-Mahon' s passive obstinacy, lined with un- 
swerving honesty. And here we must try to distinguish 
between passive obstinacy and active will-power. Mac- 
Mahon had a good deal of the former, very little of the 
latter even in his young days, and none in his old age. 
It was his obstinacy that made him hold the MalakofF 
against overwhelming odds when he had planted his flag 
on it ; it was the lack of active will-power that made 
him, a Legitimist, vote for the life- Presidency of Louis 
Napoleon in 1852. He himself told the story to the 
Emperor fifteen years later at Oran, on the very spot 
where he recorded his vote. ' ' I intended to vote 
against you, sire, but I was to vote the last, ' ' he said. 
" The infantry came up and voted for you to a man ; 
the cavalry followed, and there were a few sparse votes 
against you ; the artillery increased the number of ad- 
verse votes ; and the punishment battalion, which 
brought up the rear, voted unanimously ' No. ' I could 



252 My Paris Note-Book. 

not very well go with the worst behaved part of my 
army, so I voted ' Yes. ' " It was this same lack of 
active will-power, which lack must have been very 
patent to the Duchesse de Magenta, that made her cast 
her chivalrous husband for the part of a second-rate 
monk in a drama, the final act of which was a ballet- 
like apotheosis of the Third Republic. I am referring 
to the fHes ' ' decreed' ' by Gambetta and Co. at the 
opening of the Exhibition of 1878, which fetes ^ to all 
intents and purposes, have been continued ever since — 
though with less ^clat — on the 14th July of every year. 
It was this same lack of active will-power that caused 
the descendant of Patrick Mac-Mahon of Torrodile' to 

=t I append an authentic record of the family of Marshal Mac- 
Mahon from the capitulation of Limerick to the battle of Magenta. 
It may prove interesting to English and ^n^erican readers : — 
" Patrick Mac-Mahon, of Torrodile, in the county of Limerick, was 
married to Margaret, daughter of John O'Sullivan, in the county 
of Cork, of the House of O'Sullivan Beare. Honourably identified 
with the cause of the last of the Stuarts, he sheathed his sword at 
the Treaty of Limerick, and retired with his wife — a lady of the 
rarest beauty and virtue — to the friendly shores of France. Here 
his son, John Mac-Mahon, of Autun (in the Department of the 
Saone-et-Loire), married an heiress, and was created Count 
d'Equilly. On the 28th September 1794, the Count applied to the 
Irish Government of that day, accompanying his application with 
the necessary fees, &c., for the officers of 'Ulster King-at-Arms,' 
to have his genealogy, together with the records, &c., of his family, 
duly authenticated, collected, and recorded, with all necessary 
verification, in order that his children and their posterity in France 
might have all-sufficient proof of the proud fact that they were 
Irish. All this was accordingly done, as may be seen in the 
records in Birmingham Tower, Dublin Castle, countersigned by 
the then Lord-Lieutenant of Ireland, and the various other requi- 
site signatures. In those records he is described as of ' the noble 
family, paternally, of Mac-Mahon of Clonderala (in Clare) and 
maternally of the noble family of O'Sullivan of Beare.' He was 
the grandfather of the Marshal, Duke of Magenta. The Count's 
genealogy commences in the middle of the fifteenth century, and 



My Paris Note-Book. 253 

become for some time the tool of the BrogHes Fourtons, 
and finally, more or less of a political warming-pan for the 

traces him through eight generations as follows : Terence Mac- 
Mahon, proprietor of Clonderala, married Helena, daughter of 
Maurice Fitzgerald, Earl of Kildare, died 1472, and was interred 
in the monastery of Ashelin, in Munster, He was succeeded by 
his son Dotiatus Mac-Mahon, who married Honora O'Brien, of the 
noble family of Thomond ; and his son Terence Mac-Mahon, Esq., 
married Joanna, daughter of John MacNamara, Esq., of Dohagh- 
tin, commonly styled ' MacNamara Reagh,' and had a son, Ber- 
nard Mac-Mahon, Esq., whose wife was Margarita, daughter of 
Donatus O'Brien, of Daugh. Mortogh Mac-Mahon, son of Ber- 
nard, married Eleonora, daughter of William O'Nelan, of Emri, 
colonel of a regiment of horse in the army of Charles I., and was 
father of Maurice Mac-Mahon, Esq., whose wife, Helena, was 
daughter of Maurice Fitzgerald, Esq., of Ballinoe, Knight of Glinn. 
Mortogh Mac-Mahon, son of Maurice, married Helena, daughter of 
Emanuel MacSheehy, Esq., of Ballylinan, and was father of the 
above-named Patrick Mac-Mahon, who married Margarita, daugh- 
ter of John O'Sullivan, Esq., mother of John, first Count d'Equilly, 
The descent of Count Mac-Mahon, maternally, through the O'Sul- 
livans, is as follows : Mortogh O'Sullivan Beare, of Bantry, in the 
county of Cork, married Maryann, daughter of James, Lord Des- 
mond, and dying, was interred, 1541, in the Convent of Friars 
Minors, Cork. His son, John O'Sullivan, of Bantry, married Jo- 
anna, daughter of Gerald de Courcey, Baron of Kinsale, and died 
1578, leaving Daniel O'Sullivan, Esq., his son, who married Anna, 
daughter of Christopher O'Driscoll, of Baltimore, in the county 
of Cork, and died at Madrid, leaving his son, John O'Sullivan, of 
Bantry, Esq., who married Margaret, daughter of James O' Dono- 
van, of Rosecarbery, Esq. Bartholomew O'Sullivan, son of John, 
was colonel in the army of James H. at the siege of Limerick, 
and married Helena, daughter of Thomas Fitzmaurice, Baron of 
Kerry, by whom he had Major John O'Sullivan, of Bantry, who 
married Honoria, daughter of Robert MacCarthy, of ' Castro 
Leonino' (Castlelyons), in the county of Cork, Esq., grandson of 
Daniel MacCarthy, Lord of Glancare, and Margaret, his wife, 
daughter of Donogh, Lord Desmond, and died 1731. Their 
daughter was Margarita, who married Patrick Mac-Mahon, Esq., 
of Torrodile.^'—Bjtrlracl from one oj the series of articles pub- 
lished by " The Nation,'''' in June 1859, on the occasion of the battle 
of Magenta. 



254 ^Y Paris Note-Book. 

Republicans, with Gambetta at their head — Gambetta, 
"Ce Monsieur," as Marshal Mac-Mahon called him, 
who could no more judge a man of Mac-Mahon' s 
stamp than ' ' General' ' Booth could judge of a John 
Wesley. 

I am not exaggerating in saying that Mac-Mahon 
finally became the warming-pan for the Republicans ; it 
would be no exaggeration to call Mac-Mahon the virtual 
founder of the Third Republic, the founder in spite of 
himself, for a republic was a form of government he 
detested even more than he despised the so-called in- 
carnation of it in the form of a Gambetta. Lest my 
statement as to his being virtually the founder of the 
Third Republic should seem a mere flippant assertion 
for the sake of eifect, I quote textually the conclusion 
of a conversation between the late M. Eugene Pelletan, 
the father of M. Camille Pelletan (C16menceau's lieu- 
tenant) — who was one of the staunchest and most up- 
right Republicans that ever lived — and the Comte 
Henry d' Ideville, one of the staunchest, most upright, 
and able Royalists it has ever been my lot to meet. 
The conversation took place one May morning, in the 
year 1878, on the Quai Voltaire. 

'* I can well understand your being violently irritated, 
nay, exasperated, with that poor man (Mac-Mahon)," 
said the Republican ; * ' but we, there is no doubt of it, 
appreciate him exceedingly. Of course, you, from 
your point of view, are justified in judging him very 
severely, for he has disappointed all your hopes. But 
as far as we RepubHcans are concerned, we could not 
wish for a more respectful and docile functionary at the 
head of the Republic. Thanks to him, our Govern- 
ment enjoys the consideration and esteem of foreign 
nations, and the world's opinion, recovered from its 



My Paris Note-Book. 255 

fright, is gradually accepting our new institutions. In 
short, Mac-Mahon is the most marvelious pioneer we 
could possibly wish for. Without the least ambition, 
without the slightest will of his own, without the faint- 
est prestige, he allows his ministers and M. Dufoure to 
govern in his name, and does not raise the smallest ob- 
stacle to the working of the Constitution. In that way 
he is acclimatising the Republic in France better than 
any of us could have done. We could not wish for a 
better man, and assuredly when the years of the Sep- 
tennate shall have expired, we will renew the mission of 
the illustrious Marshal. 

'' Nay, I'll go further still, and say, that if M. Thiers 
had remained in power, he, with his great individuality, 
despotic temperament, and impatience of contradiction, 
could not have failed to provoke conflicts with the 
Chamber, and would have given umbrage to many. 
What would have happened then ? I'll tell you. One 
fine morning there would have been the great danger 
that the former minister of Louis Philippe, finding it im- 
possible to rule the Republicans according to his will, to 
make them dance to his fiddling, feeling himself grow- 
ing old, and seeing his influence on the wane, would 
have brought back the monarchy among us out of sheer 
spite. How grateful we ought to be, then, to the reac- 
tionaries for having overthrown and replaced him by 
this Marshal, whom we can never praise sufficiently." 

''Without the least ambition, without the slightest 
will of his own, without the faintest prestige," said Pel- 
letan. The words summed up the whole of Mac-Ma- 
hon' s character better than a hundred pages of psycho- 
logical analysis could have done. The lack of will- 
power I have already touched upon ; the lack of ambi- 
tion was equally conspicuous. I am not at all certain 



256 My Paris Note-Book. 

that Mac-Mahon was greatly elated when he had his 
dukedom bestowed upon him in '59. From the gene- 
alogy I have appended, it will be evident that no title, 
however lofty, could enhance his social status. It must 
be remembered also by whom the title was conferred — by 
Louis Napoleon, the bugbear of the greater part of the 
Faubourg St. Germain, to which Mac-Mahon had never 
ceased to belong, first, by reason of his own inclinations 
and birth ; secondly, in virtue of his marriage with Mile. 
d$ Castries. The title was, moreover, the ostensible 
reward for Mac-Mahon' s share in the successful initial 
moves of a policy the final aim of which must have been 
as patent to the most short-sighted Legitimists as it was 
repulsive to all, Mac-Mahon included, namely, the event- 
ful spoliation of the Holy Father. No amount of assur- 
ance to the contrary from Napoleon IIL could allay the 
fears of, or deceive, the Legitimists on that point, even 
if it deceived the Emperor himself, which is quite pos- 
sible, for subsequent events proved that he spoke in 
good faith when he declared that no Italian army, how- 
ever victorious, should ever proceed further than the 
gates of Rome as long as he lived. His purely military 
advancement must, of course, have been gratifying to 
Mac-Mahon, although not later than six years and a 
half ago I was given to understand inferentially — mind, 
I repeat, inferentially, and lay great stress on the word ' 
— that he would willingly have declined the great hon- 
our, which meant also a terrible responsibility for the 
simple-minded soldier, who, in spite of himself, was pitch- 
forked into politics ; this gentleman, sans peur et sans 

I In November 1887 I had an interview with General Trochu at 
his residence in the Rue Traversiere, at Tours. I pledged my word 
that not a word of what transpired between us should be revealed 
until after his death. The old soldier spoke most kindly of the 
Marshal, but I cannot say more. 



My Paris Note-Book. 257 

reprocke, who, beneath a somewhat stern exterior, was 
kindness itself to every one around him, was modest be- 
yond compare, so modest, in fact, as to have seriously 
embarrassed those paid trumpeters of fame, yclept jour- 
nalists, in the hour of his greatest triumph. I remem- 
ber perfectly all the events of the year '59, for, though 
I was but a lad of seventeen, I was an assiduous reader 
of newspapers. There were a great many particulars 
of the battle of Magenta, but the victor himself stub- 
bornly refused to be drawn out. ' ' What is the use of 
asking for particulars of Mac-Mahon's career?" wrote 
one of those journalists almost immediately after the 
engagement ; * ' what is the use of asking us, when Mac- 
Mahon himself refuses to enlighten us on that and other 
points, and simply says that he has done exactly what 
every other general has done and would do under simi- 
lar circumstances ?' ' 

* * Without the faintest prestige, ' ' said Pelletan ; by 
which he meant ''the faintest political prestige," for it 
flattered and still flatters French pride to think or to 
delude itself into the belief that, but for the accident that 
befell Mac-Mahon on that ill-fated morning of Sedan, he 
would have been able to stop the advance of the Ger- 
mans for good. 

One may well doubt whether that delusion was ever 
shared to any appreciable extent by the honest, valiant 
soldier himself To have imagined such a reversal of 
misfortune would have argued the possession on his 
part of a sanguineness of disposition, a buoyancy of tem- 
perament, and a vividness of imagination, all of which 
were absolutely lacking. Of all the qualities that seem, 
as it were, to be the moral and mental appanage of the 
race whence he sprang, Mac-Mahon had only preserved 
one — his reckless daring ; the rest had in the course of 
r 22* 



258 My Paris Note-Book. 

several generations entirely vanished, and been replaced 
by a sound but exceedingly restricted common-sense 
which forbade even the faintest dream of his attejnptifig 
the retrieval of France's disasters by force of arms. 
Whether his faith in the recuperative power of his 
country in military matters was sufficiently strong to in- 
spire him with something more than hope for the future, 
it would be difficult to say, for Mac-Mahon was a reti- 
cent man. This reticence may have been due, first, to 
that sound common-sense ; secondly, to a faint con- 
sciousness of his being a rare and curious specimen of 
the happy man sans le vouloir, and that therefore his 
lack of active will-power was no drawback to him. I am 
by no means convinced that he had even that faint con- 
sciousness, for I strongly suspect the late Marshal — and 
I had many opportunities of observing him — of having 
been not only a happy man sans le vouloir, but a happy 
man sans le savoir. 

After the peace of Utrecht, Marshal Villars sent a 
deputation to Marlborough to compliment him on his 
victories in Flanders. "The secret of my success," 
said Churchill modestly, * ' means simply this — I made a 
hundred blunders, my adversaries made a hundred and 
one." It would be more than unjust to depreciate the 
military talents — as distinct from the strategical and tac- 
tical — of a soldier like Mac-Mahon, who, if the whole 
truth were known, never laid much stress upon the pos- 
session of either ; but the student of history cannot but 
be aware that this hundred-and-first blunder which 
would have reduced Mac-Mahon in the estimation of 
his countrymen to the level of a Wimpffen, a Trochu, 
a Ducrot, and even of a Bourbaki, though perhaps not 
to that of a Bazaine, was mercifully averted from him 
by chance in the shape of the spHnter of a shell early 



My Paris Note-Book. 259 

in the morning of September ist, 1870. In a German 
adaptation of Lord Lytton's ''Night and Morning," 
by Charlotte Birch Pfeiffer — not to be confounded with 
Ida Pfeiffer — Lord Lilburne, the aristocratic villain of 
the play, Hmps in at the very moment that Beaufort has 
been killed by a fall from off his horse. ' ' He could 
not have broken his neck at a more favourable oppor- 
tunity," he chuckles. The same might be said with 
regard to Mac-Mahon's mishap. He could not have 
been wounded at an opportunity more favourable to 
himself; for it saved him the humiliation of putting his 
signature to the capitulation of Sedan ; it left his coun- 
trymen under the pleasing delusion that he might have 
retrieved his crushing defeat at Reichshofen by a signal 
victory on the banks of the Meuse. The halo of Ma- 
genta was dimmed — not destroyed. That's why I 
called him the happy man sans le vouloir, and perhaps 
sans le savoir. His common-sense lay In not jeopard- 
ising this goodwill of his countrymen towards him by a 
show of individuality, except once, and this was un- 
doubtedly the mistake of his life. That he repented of 
it, I have good reason to believe ; the pity of it is, that 
this repentance bred an indifference almost bordering 
upon stolidity, from which he never departed until the 
day of his death. I need scarcely say that I mean a 
stolidity with regard to public affairs. In private life he 
was amiable to a degree, though not demonstrative. 
His modesty, both in public and private life, I have 
already touched upon ; it was utterly unaffected, as the 
following story will show. In 1884 ^ friend of mine 
went for a fortnight's stay to Jersey and Guernsey. It 
appears that a firm of excursion agents, in addition to 
the brakes provided for the accommodation of their 
patrons, had secured the services of a photographer 



26o My Paris Note-Book. 

who presented each member of the party with a picture 
of the group to which he or she happened to belong for 
the time being. A young matron decHned to form part 
of such a miscellaneous gathering. ' ' I am sorry, 
madame, ' ' said the photographer, * ' for there are some 
very eminent personages now and then in these groups. 
Here is one I took a fortnight ago. Do you know that 
old gentleman and the lady by his side ? It is the Duke 
of Magenta and the Duchess. ' ' The artist had spoken 
the truth. Two descendants of two of the noblest 
families in Europe had cheerfully accepted a kind 
attention from which the bourgeoise had shrunk. 

When Mac-Mahon resigned the Presidentship, simpli- 
city became the order of the day once more with him. 
I have seen him, not once, but a score of times, early 
in the morning in the Rue de la Paix, with his wife on 
his arm, looking at the shops and pricing things like 
the simplest couple of bourgeois. Both Mac-Mahon' s 
predecessor and his immediate successor saved money 
at the Elys^e. Mac-Mahon left it poorer than he en- 
tered, and but for the Duchesse's rich relations, would 
have left it in debt. We shall meet with Mac-Mahon 
again at the Presidency. 



My Paris Note-Book. 261 



CHAPTER XI. 

Three Presidents of the Republic (continued)— M. Jules Grevy— 
His spotless political past— The truth about his famous amend- 
ment — The origin of his fall as a President — M. Grevy's early 
career — His acquaintance with Alfred de Musset — The love-letters 
of Alfred de Musset to George Sand — My uncle at Musset's 
funeral— My uncle's notes about Grevy — Theodore Barriere, the 
famous playwright— M. Grevy's wonderful memory— M. Grevy's 
fondness for women's society — Madame Grevy — Where she failed 
— M. Grevy's mesalliance — The sequel to the mesalliance — M. 
Grevy's literary attainments— His character a puzzle — M. Gr6vy's 
love of money — Anecdotes to that eftect — A comparison between 
his greed and that of Thiers — M. Grevy's real age — His gene- 
alogy. 

M. Jules Grevy was the first President of the Third 
RepubHc who took possession of the Elysee-Bourbon 
with a * * clean slate, ' ' from the Republicans' point of 
view, and against whom no reactionary could prefer the 
charge of having draped himself in the cast-off finery of 
the vanished regimes. From the moment Gr6vy made 
his appearance in the political arena (1848), nay, from 
the very moment he forced himself into notice as the 
legal defender of Philippet and Quignot, accused, like 
Barbes and Martin Bernard, of complicity in the insur- 
rection of '39, Grevy fought with uplifted visor for the 
Republican cause. There was not a single political in- 
consistency in his public career from the beginning to 
the end, for even his opposition to the appointment of a 
President of the Republic — with which opposition he 
was so often twitted since his acceptance of the dignity 



262 My Paris Note-Book. 

— was not only perfectly logical at the time being, but 
proved an almost inspired foresight into the immediate 
future. Grevy was not opposed to a President of the 
Republic, but to a President of the Republic raised to 
the position by a plebiscite^ '' for," argued he, "such a 
chief magistrate could, in the event of a conflict with 
the Chamber, take his stand upon the fact of owing no 
allegiance to the Chamber, seeing that the Chamber did 
not elect him, and consequently, on the plea, real or 
fictitious, of acting in the interest of the nation which 
chose him, oppose that Chamber to the bitter end, nay, 
dissolve it by force as an assembly of enemies of the 
public weal." I am giving the spirit, though perhaps 
not the letter, of his argument, for, as I have already 
had occasion to remark more than once, I do not pro- 
fess to write history. I repeat, there was not a single 
political inconsistency in Grevy' s public career from 
beginning to end, and when he fell, the fall was not due 
to a political mistake or an unconstitutional encroach- 
ment on his part, but to circumstances which had their 
origin in his private life. There probably never was a 
more glaringly ' * ridiculous want of proportion between 
oflence and punishment" than in Gravy's ante-Presi- 
dential peccadillo and its consequences, which culminated 
in the ' * Caffarel scandal, ' ' and finally compelled him to 
vacate the Presidential chair. 

** A man who is not sometimes a fool is always one,'* 
said Paley ; and if judged by that axiom, Grevy may 
fairly be considered to have been a wise man. Unlike 
Maltres Henri Brisson, Charles Floquet, L6on Gam- 
betta, and a dozen others whose names have become 
identified with the fortunes of the Third Republic, 
Maitre Jules Gr^vy, though well known for his Repub- 
lican opinions, did not attempt to make those opinions 



My Paris Note-Book. 263 

a stepping-stone to success in his profession. Tradition 
credits him with being among the assailants of the bar- 
racks in the Rue de Babylone during the Revolution of 
1830, but one may well doubt this, seeing that, according 
to those who knew him — and my uncles were among the 
number of his acquaintances, though the acquaintance 
seems never to have ripened into friendship — he was 
always disinclined to physical exertion, unless it was 
connected with sport. Notwithstanding this reputed 
bodily indolence, and an almost insatiable craving for 
sleep, he made his mark very soon after having been 
called to the bar, mainly by the exercise of a truly 
phenomenal memory, which stood him in excellent stead 
till the very end of his life, and invested him with a 
peculiar charm as a causeur. In his early manhood he 
seems to have been what the French call ' ' un bon gar- 
fon,^^ what we call "a good fellow," though not exactly 
a jolly good fellow, for even at the age of thirty he was 
very demure, not to say grave. A few hours before his 
election as President of the Republic in January ' 79, M. 
Edmond About said in my hearing, and in that of 
several other journalists standing by — " Gr6vy is fond 
of good wine, he has an eye for a good-looking woman, 
and is sufficiently grave withal ; he is ' cut out' for a 
President of the French Republic. (Gr6vy est buveur, 
galant et grave, c'est le President qu'il faut aux Fran- 
9ais.)" The future President was then in his seventy- 
second year ; but the compliment, and it was intended 
as such, was as deserved at that moment as it would 
have been some thirty-five years before, at which period 
the young barrister made the acquaintance of Alfred 
de Musset at the Cafe de la R6gence, where he became 
the poet's almost constant opponent at chess, previous 
to his becoming the poet's confidant and legal adviser in 



264 My Paris Note-Book. 

a case which, had it been brought into Court, would 
have probably proved the most interesting literary cause 
celebre of the century. It was shortly after Musset's 
rupture with George Sand, and his return heart-broken 
from Venice. Musset, who knew George Sand's pecu- 
liar tendency for turning every scrap of paper to account, 
was anxious to have his love-letters back. He felt con- 
vinced that sooner or later he would figure as the hero 
of one of her books, that his letters would be utilised ; 
he knew that he could prevent neither the one thing nor 
the other — that even if George Sand returned the letters, 
she would preserve copies of them ; nevertheless, he 
wanted them back. Though Musset did not die until 
twenty years after, he was already then on the down- 
ward path, absinthe had begun to do its deadly work, 
albeit that the intermittent flashes of lucidity were 
marked by work which a uniformly sober life would 
perhaps have failed to produce ; but he was obstinate to 
a degree, whether sober or the reverse. All this I 
learned many years after the event ; but it was on the 
very day of Musset's funeral in '57 that I heard for the 
first time the name of the man who was to be the third 
President of the Third Republic. It happened in this 
way. My uncles had known both the Mussets rather 
intimately between the thirties and forties, but the 
brothers' visits to our home, especially those of the 
younger, had, in the latter years of his life, become very 
rare. I remember, though, seeing him once during the 
year and a half that elapsed between my arrival in Paris 
and his death. I was too young then to appreciate the 
privilege. At the time of his death I knew something 
of his poems, not much, for my relatives were com- 
mendably anxious that I should not know too much at 
so early an age. The little I did know, however, made 



My Paris Note-Book. 265 

me very eager to see his funeral, for I felt convinced that 
the whole of literary and artistic Paris would be there. 
I had not read Carlyle's '^ Heroes and Hero-Worship" 
at the time, but had come instinctively to the conclusion 
that, * ' take them in whatever way you will, great men 
are always profitable company. ' ' My elder grand-uncle 
being confined to his room with a bad leg, I had to stay 
at home to keep /inn company instead ; the younger 
went alone. 

*' Well, Mark," said his brother, when his junior re- 
turned, " I suppose there was an enormous crowd?" 

''Very enormous, brother," replied Mark bitterly. 
"I counted them." 

* ' How could you count such a crowd ?' ' 

' ' Very easily. Apart from his family and a few of 
his friends, there were, when we left the house, exactly 
seventeen persons at the door, whom I would be at a 
loss to classify unless I called them spectators. Three 
of these were very indifferent spectators, for they de- 
serted us before we got half-a-mile on our way, for the 
superior attraction of a regiment that went by with its 
band at its head. The drum-major and the 'jingling 
Jimmy' proved too much for them. I wotild rather say 
no more about it." 

They sat quite still for a little while ; then my elder 
uncle asked — "Were any of his Cafe de la Regence 
acquaintances there ?' ' 

"Yes," answered my uncle Mark, " M. Jules Gr6vy ; 
no one else." 

"Ah," was the other's comment, " M. Jules Grevy 
is a downright good fellow ; his heart is in the right 
place." 

I had entirely forgotten the name of M. Jules Gr6vy 
in connection with the above incident, when I was re- 
al 23 



266 My Paris Note-Book. 

minded of it, after my uncles' death, by a note in the 
younger' s handwriting. This was nearly two years 
before the outbreak of the Franco- German War, when 
no one dreamt of the honours in store for M. Grevy, 
although he had risen to the top of his profession. 
The note is far too long to be given in extensOy albeit 
that it would be interesting enough, especially to stu- 
dents of the French drama, seeing that it deals in reality 
with an episode in the life of one of the foremost 
French playwrights of the reigns of Louis Philippe and 
Napoleon III. — Theodore Barriere, whom at one time 
my uncles — they were inveterate matchmakers — tried to 
marry to a wealthy Dutch girl living in Paris with her 
family. The note throws, moreover, a curious light on 
the French laws regulating the control of parents over 
their children ; but, I repeat, I can only condense it. 

It was well known that even at the outset of his dra- 
matic career Theodore Barriere earned a fair amount of 
money. As it was equally well known that Barriere 
had no expensive tastes, save in the matter of cigars, 
which he liked good and large, and of which he con- 
sumed a great many in the course of each day, it sur- 
prised those who knew him to see him turn every now 
and then to one of his friends, and borrow a twenty franc 
piece. Whither did the money go, then ? To his mother, 
who was the most curious specimen of greed and im- 
providence combined which it would be possible to find. 
Barriere did not seem to mind it, for he was very fond of 
her. He was not equally fond of his father, and of the 
latter' s brother, both of whom pretended to look upon 
the rising young playwright as a mere trifler, whose 
works, compared to theirs, did not deserve a moment's 
consideration. They would have fain compelled him 
to remain bending over the engraver's bench — I think 



My Paris Note-Book. 267 

they, the father and the uncle, were engravers also, who 
beguiled their leisure hours, the sire by versifying some 
of Moliere's prose works, the sire's brother by convert- 
ing into prose Le Misanthrope, Tartuffe, &c. They 
would have fain prevented Barriere from writing * * the 
rubbish" he wrote, the proceeds of which *' rubbish" 
they, however, appropriated almost to a cent, and which 
* ' rubbish' ' was the means of providing the whole of the 
family with comforts they had not enjoyed before. Their 
attempts to treat Barriere as a minor had hitherto 
proved unsuccessful, notwithstanding the fact of Bar- 
riere being under age at the date of the first attempt, 
and albeit that even in the France of the present day a 
man of forty or fifty may be so treated by his family if 
they can obtain the necessary authority. My uncles 
called the Conseil Judiciaire the " chapel of ease of the 
madhouse." We may suppose, however, that even 
among the lawyers consulted by the two elder Barrieres, 
there was not one sufficiently daring to make an appli- 
cation to a judge in the case of a young fellow who de- 
lighted Paris audiences by his wit and pointed satire 
when he was barely twenty, for Barriere had already 
then obtained a certain measure of his success, though 
his great popularity only began with La Vie de Boheme, 
written in collaboration with Henri Murger. Then the 
brothers thought their chance had come. Instead of 
applying to this or that pettifogging lawyer, as they 
had done hitherto, they consulted a member of the 
French bar who had already won a reputation. They 
intended to base their application upon the young play- 
wright's association "with a notoriously immoral indi- 
vidual," the said Henri Murger, the author of a scan- 
dalously obscene novel, entitled ' * Scenes de la Vie de 
Boheme." The barrister showed them the door. 



268 My Paris Note-Book. 

''They had appHed to him," says my uncle's note, 
' ' because they had heard that he was shortly to figure 
in the law-suit to be brought against George Sand by 
Alfred de Musset for the restitution of the latter' s letters 
to the former. But Musset dared not face the ordeal of 
a" public trial, for both his constitution and his brain 
were undermined by that pernicious mixture of beer, 
absinthe^ and brandy, I believe, he was in the habit of 
taking, and the barrister had, moreover, given him 
plainly to understand that there would be ' a tremen- 
dous scandal,' 'though,' he added, 'we will gain the 
day. It's somewhat out of my ordinary line of prac- 
tice, but I do not mind that. ' The barrister was M. 
Jules Grevy, who during the Second RepubHc distin- 
guished himself by his opposition to the appointment 
of a President of the Republic. 

" I have an idea," the note goes on, "that M. Grevy 
would have been as good as his word, and gained the 
day. I have not seen M. Gr^vy for a number of years. 
I have heard that he has occupied the highest post of 
honour his fellow-barristers could confer, and I am not 
surprised, for even as a comparatively young man, he 
struck me as being possessed not only of considerable 
abilities, but of infinite tact. The fact of his having 
succeeded in gaining the friendship and confidence of 
Alfred de Musset, and of his having kept these for a 
length of time, speaks volumes in his favour, for it is 
not libelling the poet's memory to say that the path of 
constant intercourse with him was beset with thorns — 
nay, Dumas was not far wrong when he called Musset 
himself * a large bundle of thorns. ' Musset was touchy 
to a degree, and, what was worse, did not admit the 
possibility of other people being at all susceptible to his 
frequently rude behaviour. The most remarkable thing 



My Paris Note-Book. 269 

about M. Gr^vy was his memory. Paul de Musset told 
me one day that he had tested it in various ways, and 
never known it to faiL It was sufficient to give him a 
Hne of a classic or modern masterpiece — provided, of 
course, that he was acquainted with it, to have the rest 
'reeled off' without a moment's break." 

It would appear from the same note which I condense 
still further, and which was evidently written in 1868, 
or, at any rate, completed in that year, for it mentions 
" M. Grevy's election to the Chamber" — it would ap- 
pear, I say, that every one, except Paul de Musset, was 
surprised at seeing the young and outwardly grave bar- 
rister accept the obviously sensational case against 
George Sand. But Alfred de Musset' s elder brother, 
who, like M. Ernest Daudet in our own days, had to 
bear the penalty of his junior's genius — the comparison 
is only partially just, for Paul de Musset ranks higher 
as a writer than M. Ernest Daudet — was, nevertheless, 
an excellent reader of character, and the very sedate 
demeanour of M. Grevy did not impose upon him. 
* ' Paul de Musset told me, ' ' my uncle writes, ' * that M. 
Grevy is not only very fond of women's society, but 
that he is a great favourite with them, that he admirably 
understands their tempers, their dispositions, and their 
whims. He never htirries tnatters, least of all does he 
pose as a lady-killer, or broken-hearted victim of un- 
requited passion. He lays deliberate siege to their 
hearts or imaginations, he does not attempt to take 
them by storm, and in his own quiet way gives them to 
understand that even in the event of surrender, they 
will be allowed to retire eventually with the banners of 
their fair fame flying, and the honours of war. ' ' 

I began this little dissertation on M. Grevy's private 
character, by quoting Paley, to the effect that ' ' a man 

23* 



270 



My Paris Note-Book. 



who Is not sometimes a fool Is always one ;' ' and added, 
that, judged by that axiom, Grevy was a wise man. I 
doubt whether M. Grevy would have agreed with me 
after December 1887, even if he agreed with me up to 
that date, which is also not very probable. For long 
before that he must have come to the conclusion that 
there are acts of folly which no previous wisdom can 
excuse, no subsequent wisdom can redeem, and that 
among these a mesalliance is the most irretrievable of 
all. Between the years 1 880-1 886, I saw Madame 
Gr6vy on several public occasions, and, as far as I 
could judge, she seemed a very worthy woman, albeit 
Gambetta, whose opportunities of observing her were 
denied to me, said, ''that, though belonging to Nar- 
bonne, she was by no means all honey." But whether 
honey or the reverse, she did not look the consort of a 
President of the French Republic, be that Republic 
never so democratic in theory. ' ' In order to govern 
the French," remarked Gambetta on another occasion, 
** one must be violent in speech and moderate In acts." 
To Impress French Republicans socially and politically 
as well, perhaps, the temporary mistress of the Elysee- 
Bourbon should be known to have democratic opinions, 
and be able to express them like the most elegant patri- 
cian. She must be a Claude Vignon (the first Madame 
Rouvier), an Olympe Audouard, a JuHette Lamber 
(Mme. Edmond Adam), a Marie Deraismes (one of the 
most charming champions of women's rights it has ever 
been my lot to meet, and who died but very recently). 
She may even be a Louise Michel with a good dress- 
maker and corsetiere at her back, In default of which 
she must be a Mar^chale Lefevre, in other words, a 
"Madame Sans-G^ne," like the Duchesse de Dantzic, 
who, however, was not the original Madame Sans-G^ne. 



My Paris Note-Book. 271 

She must be a Madame Sans-Gene ayant le mot pour 
rire^ and not only 7iot ashamed of her humble origin, 
but taking a profitable opportunity now and then of 
actually boasting of it. Madame Grevy fulfilled, neither 
of the conditions just named, she was essentially la tres 
petite bourgeoise than which there is no more unsympa- 
thetic woman when circumstances happen to raise her 
out of the class whence she sprang. With reference to 
the word mesalliayice I used just now, it might be objected 
that at the time of his marriage M. Grevy did not fore- 
see the high destiny in store for him. The objection 
would absolutely hold good, but the union was, never- 
theless, a mesalliance, for, to begin with, Jules Grevy 
belonged to a superior section of the French bourgeoisie 
than "Wi?, fiancee, who was the daughter of a tanner in an 
exceedingly small way of business at Narbonne, and a 
milliner by trade. Years ago I wrote in the preface to 
a book of mine — "A writer who has time to explain 
everything has not much time to write ; a reader who 
cannot stop to ask himself * What does this mean ?' 
ought not to read." Hence it is not my intention to 
explain why U7ie demoiselle de bonne maison — read a 
well-connected girl, by which I do not necessarily mean 
a girl of aristocratic or even higher middle-class parent- 
age — is NOT apprenticed to millinery or dressmaking. 
There is a justified or unfounded prejudice among the 
French middle bourgeoisie against these callings to-day ; 
the prejudice was much stronger fifty and sixty years ago. 
Parents will scrape, contrive, deny themselves the com- 
forts of life, in order to do two things — to provide a dot, 
however small, for their daughters, and to keep them 
out of the real or supposed morally pestilential atmos- 
phere of the workroom. Secondly, Jules Gr^vy, when 
he met his future wife, was already in very fair practice. 



272 My Paris Note-Book. 

But that delectable habit of his to say " sweet nothings'* 
with the gravest possible face to every pretty woman he 
met, and which habit never forsook him till he was nearly 
an octogenarian — that delectable habit proved too strong 
for him on that particular occasion also, and what was 
worse, the young woman, who was a provincial, and 
probably not accustomed to flirtations, smif pour le bon 
motif, took him au serieux ; what was worse still, her 
brothers, who were his cUents, took him au grand se- 
rieux ; there was probably no means of drawing back, 
except at the risk of gravely compromising his profes- 
sional reputation. M. Gr6vy had not made the acquaint- 
ance, of the Narbonne milliner in the ordinary way ; she 
came to him in his professional capacity, and the French 
* ' order of barristers' ' exercises a more rigorous control 
over its members with regard to their actions, even in 
private life, than is generally known. Rather than incur 
exposure, not to say interference, Jules Gr6vy resigned 
himself to become a Benedick when he would have fain 
remained a bachelor. 

It is not my intention to follow the future President 
of the Republic step by step, either in his forensic, 
political, private, or amative vicissitudes. Sufficient be 
it to say that in the opinion of those best qualified to 
know, the marriage was considered as the first ''serious" 
act of folly in M. Grevy's life. " Le mariage," says 
Victor Hugo, ''est une grefle ; 9a prend bien ou 9a 
prend mal." Whether Paley intended to have a man's 
wisdom grafted on in that way it is impossible to say. 
Nor can I assert with any degree of certainty that M. 
Gravy's domestic life was an unhappy one. Equally 
difficult is it to determine whether M. Gr6vy's second 
act of folly was a consequence of the first, or entirely 
separate. Certain is it, however, that while at Tours in 



My Paris Note-Book. 273 

1 87 1, he yielded to his fascination for a lady, but for 
whose influence his public career would have terminated 
differently. But for Mme. Pelouze, M. Gr6vy would 
not have become father-in-law to M. Daniel Wilson, 
Madame Pelouze' s brother. But for M. Daniel Wilson, 
there would perhaps have been no ' ' Caffarel scandal, ' ' 
and if there had been, M. Grevy would not have been 
affected by it. 

This is not a mere sweeping assertion on my part. I 
could give verse and chapter for what I state, and the 
reader who has been kind enough to follow m.e through 
these notes will scarcely suspect me of an unreasoning 
sympathy either with the Republic or the men who have 
lorded it over France for the last twenty-three years. 
But if the late M. Grevy is to figure in these pages at 
all, he should be represented in his true light ; this much 
is due to his memory and to common fairness. He was 
the typical French bourgeois of the higher — though per- 
haps not of the highest — class. He had nearly all his 
virtues, and only one or two of his defects. Apart from 
his professional attainments, he had sterHng literary ca- 
pacities which, had he chosen to exercise them, would 
have probably carried him to the front ranks of author- 
ship. His speech on the grave of Berryer was simply 
a masterpiece of composition, style, and critical as well 
as psychological acumen, enhanced by brilliant touches, 
and would, if printed, have dwarfed every essay on the 
illustrious orator and barrister. It lost much of its effect 
in delivery, for Jules Gr6vy was not an orator in the 
best sense of the word ; his delivery was marred by a 
certain " flabbiness" of utterance, not of thought. He 
had, moreover, an exceedingly great love of literature 
and for litterateurs ; their weaknesses as well as their 
genius appealed to him ; and a great deal of his liking 



274 ^Y Paris Note-Book, 

for the late M. Tirard sprang from the fact of the latter' s 
resemblance to Alfred de Musset, in so far as a plain 
man can resemble a very good-looking one. I remem- 
ber hearing M. Gr^vy speak at the dinner on the occa- 
sion of the reopening of the rebuilt Hotel de Ville on 
the evening of the 13th July 1882. All the bigwigs had 
been expatiating on the glories of a resuscitated repub- 
lican France ; there had been an almost uninterrupted 
flow of political platitudes. The President of the Re- 
public scarcely dwelt upon republican France ; he gave 
politics a wide berth, but he said a good deal worth 
hearing about literary and artistic France, This love of 
literature and art is not a common feature in the French 
bourgeois^ except in one of the highest type, and yet I 
have met many not belonging to the latter category who 
were thus endowed. 

I have virtually come to a standstill in my attempted 
diagnosis, for I am practically confronted with an ap- 
parent contradiction which defies explanation as far as I 
know. I have referred once or twice to Jules Grevy's 
indolence, which, according to those who knew him 
best, almost amounted to laziness. It was decidedly 
not the indolence which prompts the middle-class 
Frenchman to retire from business at a comparatively 
early age, and on a really modest competency, in order 
to potter about his garden and villa, which he grandi- 
loquently styles terres and chdteau. It was not that 
kind of indolence, for up to his election as President of 
the Republic, and during the whole of his tenure of the 
chair at the Chamber, Jules Grevy continued to practise 
in the Law Courts, and to give consultations. Nor was 
it dislike to physical exertion, for he invariably walked 
from his domicile in the Rue Volney to the Gare St. 
Lazare and back, while the Chamber was still sitting at 



My Paris Note-Book. 275 

Versailles, and used the same mode of locomotion in the 
erstwhile royal residence itself. True, these are not long 
distances ; but, in addition to this, he was, almost up to 
the last year of his life, an ardent and indefatigable 
sportsman when in his native home in the Jura, and an 
equally ardent and indefatigable billiard player. The 
man who had all the best French, a good many of the 
Latin, and not a few of the Greek classics literally * ' at 
the tip of his tongue," could assuredly not be twitted 
with mental inactivity ; not to mention his acknowledged 
superiority at chess. And yet, I repeat, those who 
knew him best, invariably spoke of him as being ' ' phe- 
nomenally indolent." 

Less open to doubt was Jules Gr6vy's greed of 
money, the besetting sin of the whole of the French 
bourgeoisie — one might say of almost the whole of the 
French nation, were it not for certain exceptions among 
the noblesse; which greed is productive of more tragedies 
and crimes than all other causes combined ; which greed 
is so often dignified by the name of ' ' frugality' ' by 
writers who have no opportunities of seeing it at work 
in all the natural and social relations of modern France 
life, and who fancy that MM. Zola, Daudet, and the 
late Guy de Maupassant have purposely exaggerated 
this curse for the sake of literary and dramatic effect, 
while, in reality, these authors have stopped short of 
the truth. 

It was this greed that made Jules Gr^vy at first the 
laughing-stock of France, and subsequently the scape- 
goat of the misdoings of others, for I positively assert 
not only that not a cent of the proceeds of that ill- 
savoured ' * traffic in decorations' ' found its way into his 
pockets, but that he was completely ignorant of that 
traffic being directed from under his roof. But the 



276 My Paris Note-Book. 

world refused to believe it. When a man In Grevy's 
position demeans himself, for the sake of a few hundred 
francs, to ask for free passes on a railway for his ser- 
vants, it is not surprising that he should be thought 
capable of selling his influence for several thousands of 
francs ; and that request for free passes was not pre- 
ferred once, but each time the President of the Republic 
moved from the Elysee- Bourbon to Mont-sous- Vaudrey 
and back again. It has been said that M. Grevy was 
not responsible for this undignified step, that his evil 
genius, who was always in want of money, penned those 
requests in his name, appropriating the money the rail- 
way tickets would have cost to his own use, for his net 
was made of very small meshes, and everything was 
fish that came to it. I have seen those letters, and they 
bore the President's signature, though the body of them 
was in a different handwriting. M. Gr^vy may possibly 
have signed these letters among other documents ; there 
ought not to have been such a possibility. Mac-Mahon, 
who was undoubtedly Grevy's mental inferior, never 
signed a document without acquainting himself with its 
contents — when he did sign, which was not often the 
case. He did not categorically refuse ; he kept the pe- 
titioner for his signature in conversation for half-an-hour 
or so, persistently going away from the subject, and 
generally winding up with a "Je n'aime pas les pape- 
rasses et je ne signerai pas." 

But even if the excuse held good in that one instance, 
it would fail in the two following stories, which, to my 
knowledge, have never been published, and which, for 
that reason, I select from among the hundred and odd 
I have in my possession. 

M. Gr6vy owned a house — on the Boulevard Males- 
herbes, I think, but will not be certain — part of which 



My Paris Note-Book. 277 

had been taken on a very short agreement by M. Du- 
clerc before he became Prime Minister. It so happened 
that one or two days after his nomination the quarter- 
day came round, on which he was to give notice of his 
intention to quit or to remain. Having his hands very 
full, the new Premier decided to stay. ' ' Very well, M. 
le Ministre," said the concierge to whom the commu- 
nication was made, ' ' but I am obliged to tell you that 
the rent will be raised 2000 frs. per year, consequently 
500 frs. per quarter." "In that case," replied M. 
Duclerc, "I had better see your 'proprietor' first." 
''That's impossible," was the answer, "our proprietor 
sees no one, and his agent {son homme d' affaires) ^ 
foreseeing your objections, has told me that it will be 
useless to appeal to him, as he received positive instruc- 
tions to that effect. ' ' After a moment or so, the con- 
cierge added something which was not on his part ' ' a 
bit of gag," as actors would say : " Five hundred francs 
a quarter won't make much difference to M. le Ministre 
now. ' ' The man was probably repeating the words of 
the agent, who in his turn had probably repeated the 
words of the ' ' proprietor. ' ' M. Duclerc refused, how- 
ever, to look at things in that way, and made inquiries 
as to the name of his landlord, but in vain.* At the 
end of a week, Grevy, at the conclusion of a Ministerial 
Council, took him aside. "Don't trouble, my dear 
Duclerc, about finding out the name of your landlord ; 
I am your landlord, ' ' he said with a smile. ' ' I think it 

* I may remark that in Paris it is no uncommon thing for a tenant 
to be ignorant of the name of his landlord. He never sees him, all 
the business being transacted by the concierge. A friend of mine 
lived for five years in an apartment on the Boulevard Magenta, 
and at the end of his tenancy discovered that the owner of 
the house was Mile, de Rothschild, whom he frequently met in 
society. 

24 



278 My Paris Note-Book. 

is but right that you should share your good fortune 
with some of your friends. I trust that you may re- 
main in power for a long while, for I am determined 
that on the day of your quitting office your rent shall 
be reduced to the original figure." M. Duclerc's rent 
was never reduced. The above would make a good 
companion story to that of M. Thiers, who allowed his 
mother 200 frs. per month when he was out of office, 
and 250 frs. when he was in. If the fall of his Ministry 
happened to take place in the current month, the de- 
duction was made from the day of that fall ; if, on the 
other hand, he happened to come into power during 
the current month, the increase was reckoned from the 
day of the announcement in Le Moniteur, by which 
device **the great Thiers" managed to save a sum 
varying from eight to nine francs, seeing that it must 
have taken him the best part of a week to constitute his 
Ministry. We have seen elsewhere that Thiers was not 
quite so careful of the nation's money when providing 
for his firiends and acquaintances. Truth compels one 
to state, however, that on one occasion he tried to save 
France a milliard of francs, only — France failed to ap- 
preciate his intention. It was during the discussion of 
the preliminaries to the peace of '71, when he coun- 
selled the cession of Belfort, rather than the payment of 
the milliard of francs Bismarck declared himself willing 
to take instead of that city. ''Let us give him Bel- 
fort," said Thiers; " a town you can always recover; 
a milliard you can never recover." 

Gravy's apparent solicitude for the Presidential bell, 
when he occupied the chair at the Palais-Bourbon, 
would have led one to expect equal care, on his part, 
in the husbanding of the country's property in more 
important matters, and he probably exercised such care 



My Paris Note-Book. 279 

— where his own interests were not opposed to it. 
When there was a possible opportunity of shifting the 
burden of some of his expenses on to the State, he did 
not hesitate for a moment to follow his predecessor's 
example. The reader may not be aware of the figura- 
tive meaning of the word '' pot-de-vin^ Littrl tells us 
that it is * ' a present over and above the agreed price of 
a purchase or sale." Either the vendor or the pur- 
chaser, or both, may make such a present to the party 
who introduced them to one another ; but there is no 
legal obligation to that effect— it is a purely voluntary 
gift. Some years ago a friend of the then President of 
the Republic was the intermediary in such a transaction ; 
Gr6vy was the vendor, but I will not be certain. At 
any rate, he offered the traditional '' pot-de-vin'' which 
he, Gr6vy, estimated at 7000 or 8000 francs. The 
friend, who was a neighbour of his in the Jura, declined 
the gift. ** But I'll tell you what you may do with it," 
he said. * ' You may give it to our church, which is 
sadly in want of repairs." Grevy professed himself 
very pleased, and replied that he would look to the 
matter at once. 

And, in fact, in less than a fortnight, workmen ap- 
peared on the spot, and the old church began to ring 
with the sound of hammer and chisel, to the intense 
delight of the cure^ who, as the work proceeded, went 
almost ''off his head" with joy, for it was soon evi- 
dent to him that the President— the President's friend 
had, in spite of the President's request, divulged the 
story to him under the seal of secrecy — not only meant 
to be as good as his word, but better. It was idle to 
speak of mere repairs in view of the money that was 
spent so lavishly ; the President was simply ' ' restor- 
ing" the mediaeval place of worship to its pristine 



28o My Paris Note-Book. 

beauty. The President's friend could scarcely conceal 
his surprise and satisfaction, the latter sentiment not un- 
mixed with a good deal of self-reproach, for, in spite of 
his friendship for the President, he had always credited 
him with being the reverse of liberal in money matters, 
and here he was actually spending, at least, double the 
amount of the ^^pot-de-vin.'^ The President's friend 
promised himself to atone for his unjust estimate of the 
President's character at the first possible opportunity, 
and, as luck would have it, he had not long to wait. 
Shortly after the completion of the works, he had busi- 
ness to transact in Paris, and at a dinner-party hap- 
pened to sit next to M. Jacquin, the permanent " Direc- 
teur du Personnel" (read. Chief of the Staff) at the 
Ministry of Public Worship — one might almost say, 
the permanent Minister of Public Worship, for whoso- 
ever went and came at the tomb-like edifice in the Place 
Vendome, M. Jacquin remained. As a matter of 
course, the President's friend, being "full to bursting" 
of his subject, began to talk about it to his neighbour, 
and trying to ascertain as to the real amount of money 
expended. M. Jacquin, who may be alive for all I 
know, was a dry, lank individual, without an ounce of 
spare flesh on his bones, and considerably exercised by 
the ambition of becoming a member of the Chamber of 
Deputies ; serviceable withal, and not devoid of talent. 
True to his promise, the President's friend had not 
mentioned the President's name once. ''I think I 
can tell you the amount," said M. Jacquin at last; 
''for now that you speak of it, I remember some 
of the fellows wondering what possessed Cazot to 
go in for such an expense. Call to-morrow at the 
Place Vendome." The amount spent was close 
upon 25,000 francs, but it did not come out of Gravy's 



My Paris Note-Book. 281 

pocket ; the budget of Public Worship was charged 
with It. The President had saved his own 7000 or 
8000 francs. 

M. Grevy was always very reluctant to tell his age, 
and openly admitted that reluctance. At a dinner-party 
given by one of his friends In 1872, the future President 
of the Republic said with a smile, ' ' People may try as 
much as they Hke, they will never know my real age. ' ' 
And, in fact, when M. Herold, who was some time a 
minister of the Third Republic, endeavoured to obtain 
definite particulars of M. Grevy' s age for a new edition 
of "Vapereau," M. Grevy persistently refused to sup- 
ply them. *' The archives of Mont-sous-Vaudrey were 
burnt In 1831," he said, ''and you must do the best you 
can. You'll get no Information from me." As a con- 
sequence, all M. Grevy' s biographers give the year 18 13 
as that of his birth, while In reality he was born In 1807. 
An extract from the civil register of the commune of 
Mont-sous-Vaudrey, which was found recently at the 
civil tribunal of the arrondlssement of the Dole, depart- 
ment of the Jura, puts an end to all doubt on the 
matter. 

M. Gr6vy's staunch Republicanism was a heirloom. 
His grandfather accepted the function of Justice of the 
Peace in 1790, after the Constituent Assembly had reor- 
ganised the judiciary system of France. M. Gravy's 
father took service as a volunteer In 1792, was elected a 
mayor by his comrades, and only put down his arms after 
the enemy, repulsed from French soil, and defeated on 
his own territory, was compelled to sue for peace. Then 
he returned to Mont-sous-Vaudrey and assumed the 
management of the paternal estate, La Grangerie ; but 
his occupation did not prevent him from bestowing a 
great deal of care on the education of his three sons. 

24* 



282 My Paris Note-Book. 

The Empire with all its glory, the Restoration with its 
quasi-attempts at introducing liberal institutions, did 
not for a moment succeed in modifying the Re- 
publican opinion of Jules Grivy's father. The son, in 
justice to his memory, be it said, was "a chip of the 
old block." 



My Paris Note-Book. 283 



CHAPTER XII. 

Round about the Elysee-Bourbon — What an invitation to the Tuil- 
eries meant ; what an invitation to the Elysee means — My friend 
on M. Mollard, the " Introducteur des Ambassadeurs" — M. Mol- 
lard — His origin — His beginnings— How he became an employe 
at " Le Protocole"— His duties there— His functions at the be- 
ginning of the Third Repubhc — Some of his blunders — The menu 
on the occasion of the dinner to Archduke Albrecht — A quadrille 
d'honneur — A mot of Mac-Mahon — A/ete at Versailles — A recep- 
tion at the Ministry of Finances — M. Mollard's portrait — The mas- 
sacre of the hats — M. Mollard and M. Gr6vy — The Presidency 
during Thiers' time— The Presidency during Mac-Mahon's time 
— M. Grevy from a social point of view— Madame Gr^vy- Mad- 
ame Wilson, nee Gr6vy — M. Daniel Wilson — M. Mollard and the 
Grand Cordon of the Legion of Honour — M. Mollard and the 
Sultan of Zanzibar's present— M. Mollard covets a horse — What 
he does with it — The guests at the Elysee during the presidency 
of M. Grevy — My barber at the Elysee — The story of 35,000 
cigars. 

Times were when the appearance at your front door 
— I mean the door of the house, and not that of the 
apartment — of a mounted trooper handing your con- 
cierge an official-looking envelope, sealed with the Im- 
perial arms, was calculated to enhance your credit with 
the janitor. The wrapper was supposed to contain, and 
often did contain, an invitation to a ball at the Tuiler- 
ies, or for a five days' series at Compiegne or Fontaine- 
bleau ; and, in spite of everything that has been said ta 
the contrary, such an invitation gave a man, however 
poor, a certain social standing with the middle bour- 
geoisie^ and especially with his fellow-tenants, and more 



284 My Paris Note-Book. 

especially still with his landlord and the latter^ s locum 
tenens, the Cerberus in the porter's lodge. If the re- 
cipient of the invitation was practically solvent, punctual 
with his rent, and not niggardly with the tithes of his 
wood when it was stocked, and of his wine when it was 
bottled,* such an invitation, it would be thought, could 
scarcely raise him in the estimation of his landlord's 
d,me damnee; yet it did. If, on the other hand, the 
recipient was known or suspected to be impecunious, 
and behindhand with his rent, if his wine was brought in 
in small quantities from the spicier or mannezingue d^ en 
face J and his wood from the charbonnier d' a cot^^ the 
fact of the invitation was considered as the dawn of 
a more prosperous era for him. He was somebody, 
although only 3. poor somebody. The landlord was dis- 
creetly advised to ''temporise ;" the janitor became lit- 
erally "a friend in court," for she or he never allowed 
importunate duns to get further than that courtyard ; 
and though the landlord might be a direct descendant 
of Dickens' Patriarch of Bleeding-Heart Yard, and the 
creditors first-cousins to a Scotch tallyman, the poor 
somebody enjoyed a comparative period of rest ; his en- 
trances to, his exits from, his domicile were no longer 
moments of moral martydom to him. 

These times are gone, perhaps never to return. An 
invitation to the mansion, originally built by the Comte 
d'Evreux, who was a kind of eighteenth Q.^Ti\Mxy gendre 
de M. Poirier ; to the mansion which was the residence 
of Mme. Pompadour before it became a miniature Chan- 
tilly, under the name of the Elys6e-Bourbon — such an 
invitation no longer carries any social weight. It has 

» The practice of presenting one's concierge with a certain quan- 
tity of wood and wine, when these two commodities are stored, pre- 
vails still, though not to the extent it did years ago. 



My Paris Note-Book. 285 

occurred before now — under the presidency of M. Jules 
Grevy — that the locataire and the concierge received 
their invitations at the same time. * ' Did you go ?' I 
asked my friend, who was the recipient of that honour. 
' ' Certainement, ' ' was the answer ; " il ne faut pas de- 
considerer le concierge. After all, it is not his fault any 
more than mine that he received an invitation. We 
apparently belong to the same set. I am not going to 
give myself airs because my brother is a ' big swell' 
among the Republicans, for my concierge's brother — if 
he have one — may be Prime Minister to-morrow. One 
thing is certain, the very fact of his receiving an invita- 
tion argues his being a man of importance from M. Mol- 
lard's point of view ; for M. Mollard draws up the lists 
of guests, and I feel perfectly certain that M. Mollard 
would not invite anyone whom he considered a nobody." 

I feel certain that, with the exception of a few mem- 
bers of the English Embassy in Paris, and an equal 
number of English newspaper correspondents in the 
French capital, there are not a dozen Englishmen who 
have ever heard the name of M. Mollard, let alone seen 
him ; and yet the man is worth knowing, for until very 
recently he was not only the Introducteur des Ambassa- 
deurs, that is, a kind of Republican Grand Chamber- 
lain, but, moreover, the arbiter elegantiarum of the 
official entertainments at the Presidency. A sketch of 
him and his doings will give the reader a better insight 
into the nature of those entertainments than half-a-dozen 
chapters of description. 

The origin of M. Mollard Is wrapt in obscurity. Ac- 
cording to some, he was a very skilful goldsmith ; ac- 
cording to others, he was a ' * working man who did not 
work," but spouted at political meetings, where he 
finally attracted the notice of Albert Martin, better 



286 My Paris Note-Book. 

known as ''Albert FOuvrier," who died in Paris only 
a twelvemonth ago, obscure and forgotten — deservedly- 
forgotten by all, except by those who consider the 
French counterpart of Eccles a hero, and the French 
counterpart of Sam Gerridge ' ' un sale bourgeois' ' in 
the making. Albert 1' Ouvrier, " to use the American 
expression, * * went up like a rocket and came down like 
a stick ;' but his proteg^^ thanks to his really beautiful 
handwriting, managed to secure a modest situation at the 
offices of " Le Protocole,"* where he vegetated for more 
than twenty years, utilising his spare evening hours by 
playing the cornet at the Elys6e M6nilmontant and other 
suburban ball-rooms. As we shall see directly, it was 
not a bad initiation into his subsequent functions of 
organiser of the Presidential fHes. An apprenticeship 
at the gardens of the defunct Mabille, or of the equally 
defunct Chateau des Fleurs, or of the still existing 
Elysse-Montmartre and BuUier's would not have an- 
swered the purpose as well ; for the society that for- 
gathers at the Eiys6e-Bourbon on " grand nights, " and 
especially the younger part of that society, has many 

> In days gone by, the word protocole {anglice, protocol) was 
applied to the formulary used for drawing up various public acts. 
There was the notarial protocol, the protocol of process-serving, 
&c. &c. The diplomatic world has preserved the word and given 
it two decidedly distinct interpretations. It has applied the name 
both to the reports of diplomatic conferences, congresses, and con- 
ventions, and to the registers in which those reports are copied. 
At present, in French administrative language, the word is used to 
designate the ensemble of the formulas of courtesy regulating the 
correspondence between governments, and between governments 
and ministers. The "protocole" has tabulated the qualifications 
and titles given to sovereigns and ministers, &c. &c. M. de 
Freycinet has invented a much happier title than " protocole." He 
calls it "le livre des politesses." The office of " Le Protocole" in 
France is a branch of the Ministry for Foreign Affairs. 



My Paris Note-Book. 287 

more points of resemblance with the dramatis persona 
of Paul de Kock's novels than with the hysterical hero- 
ines and blas6 heroes of Alphonse Daudet's and Guy 
de Maupassant's works. M. MoUard manages to im- 
press the former ; he would be simply laughed to scorn, 
even at the Elys^e- Bourbon, by the latter. 

In the appended footnote I have endeavoured to con- 
vey an idea of the duties assigned to '' Le Protocole." 
It is more than doubtful whether M. Mollard ever mas- 
tered those duties thoroughly ; but when the Empire 
fell with a crash and the ' ' men of the fourth Septem- 
ber' ' made a clean sweep of those to whom the tradi- 
tions of etiquette and courtesy were as the air they 
breathed — for Napoleon III. had not made the mistake 
of dismissing them at his accession — M. Mollard was 
virtually the only one who possessed any knowledge at 
all of these matters. He did not become the head of 
* ' Le Protocole' ' at once : a dummy was placed over 
him, but he was practically consulted on all important 
occasions by the fast succeeding ministers. Gambetta 
suspected his ignorance, Freycinet felt certain of it, but 
still they consulted him. Thiers had no need of his 
services ; he could have given his ministers all the in- 
formation they wanted, although even he ' * made a hole 
in his manners," now and then, as for instance when 
Bismarck had to check him at one of the interviews at 
Ferrieres ; but Thiers was selfishness and vainglory per- 
sonified, and it did not displease him to show to the 
outer world in general, to the Corps Diplomatique in 
particular, the difference between himself and the men 
who surrounded him. Had he not said to Mr. Senior 
that by taste, habits, and associations, he belonged to 
the aristocracy, and was not this the opportunity to 
make good his claim without appearing to do so ? 



288 My Paris Note-Book. 

M. Mollard rose to the situation. At any rate, he 
thought he had. The knowledge he prides himself 
most upon is that involved in the ' ' niceties' ' of leaving 
cards. He may listen to suggestions on other sub- 
jects ; on that particular one he will not hear a word.* 
Whether he has a code of his own, or whether he has 
mixed several, it is impossible to say ; certain it is that 
the attaches to the various embassies in Paris are as 
much puzzled as I am in that respect. For, with the 
fast-succeeding Administrations, the number of "bits 
of pasteboard' ' left by the brand-new, half-worn, and 
utterly used-up ministers at those embassies is enormous. 
Sometimes the corners of those cards are turned down ; 
at others they are left intact. Sometimes they are left 
by the porters of the Ministries ; at others by an attach^ 
or secretary, driving round in the carriage of the min- 
ister — that is, if the minister have a carriage immedi- 
ately after his entering upon office, or just before re- 
tiring. M. Barth61emy Saint-Hilaire was for more than 
a fortnight without a conveyance of his own ; he could 
not agree upon the price of hire with Brion. In several 
instances ministers have given up their carriages, for 
the sake of economy, before the fall of the Administra- 
tion to which they belonged. One, M. Cazot, who 
went to the races at Longchamps in evening dress, put 
" p.p.C." on his cards when he retired from office. He 
was not leaving Paris, but he considered it the right 
thing to do. This time M. Mollard was furious, and 
gave him a good wigging, for M. Mollard has become 
fkmiliar with those who lord it over France. If he does 
not call them by their names when they are present, he 
never refers in any other terms to them when they are 

I I speak of him in the present tense, for, though assisted by his 
son at present, he is still the guiding spirit. 



My Paris Note-Book. 289 

absent. * * I told Gontaud and Gr^vy , " " Munster sent 
for me," '* Ressmann called when I was out," &c., &c. 
These are his habitual expressions. One does not know 
whether to laugh or to be disgusted, but, as a rule, 
laughter gets the upper hand, for, take him for what 
he is, a sublimated butler, M. Mollard is not a bad 
fellow. 

I have read somewhere — I believe in Mrs. Crosse's 
" Red-Letter Days" — an amusing anecdote of the poet 
Rogers' butler, who used virtually to control the num- 
ber of his master's guests. M. Mollard to a certain 
extent did that, and more than that, long before he was 
the head of Le Protocole ; he drew up the programmes 
of the official entertainments at the Presidency, at the 
Palais-Bourbon, at the various Ministries — in fact, every- 
where except at the H6tel-de-Ville, where there was the 
right man in the right place, the late M. Alphand. M. 
Mollard composed the menus of the dinners, he ar- 
ranged the qjiadrilles (Vhonneur, and so forth. His 
fitness for all these tasks may be gathered from the fol- 
lowing stories, which I have selected from a great num- 
ber. To give them all would fill a volume — a volume 
that would probably rank as one of the most comic 
books ever published. 

During Mac-Mahon's tenancy of the Presidential 
chair. Archduke Albrecht, the victor of Custozza, paid 
a visit to Paris, and the Marshal gave a dinner in his 
honour. Madame de Mac-Mahon's cook invented a 
new ice-pudding, and gave it a new name ; which name, 
however, conveyed nothing to M. Mollard, who was 
charged with the drawing up of the me7iu. He be- 
thought himself of a delicate compliment to the Presi- 
dent of the Republic, leaving the feelings of the guest 
out of the question, and altered the name into that of 
N / 25 



290 My Paris Note-Book. 

^^ Bombe glade a la Magenta.'^ I leave the reader to 
picture the face of Madame la Duchesse when the strip 
of printed cardboard stared her in the face just as she 
took her seat at the table. Her husband tried to soothe 
her. "After all, he did it out of compliment to me," 
he said ; " a Republican master of the ceremonies is not 
bound to have the Almanack de Gotha by heart, and to 
know that Archduke Albrecht is related to the Emperor 
of Austria." 

The second blunder was perhaps less serious, but 
more productive of frank laughter from all the victims 
to it, including the Prince of Wales. . It happened on 
the occasion of a ball given at the French Foreign 
Office, in the Exhibition year of 1878, in honour of the 
heir to the English throne. As far as I can recollect, 
M. Waddington was Minister of Foreign Affairs, for I 
was at the ball myself, and remember M. and Madame 
Waddington figuring in the quadrille d' honneur. Still, 
I will not be positive, for there have been something like 
thirty six or seven Ministers of Foreign Affairs during 
the twenty-three years of existence of the Third Re- 
public. The Prince and Princess of Wales, the late 
Duke d'Aosta, the Comte de Flandres, also figured in 
the quadrille ; but M. Mollard had utterly forgotten to 
include the Chief Magistrate of France and his wife. 
Next morning, M. Mollard came to the Elys6e in a very 
contrite state of mind. Like the true gentleman he 
was, Mac-Mahon made very light of the matter. 
'* Never mind, my dear Mollard," he smiled; "per- 
haps you were right after all — I am somewhat too old 
to dancCc David must have been about my age when 
he danced before the ark, and you know what hap- 
pened. The Bible tells us that Michal, Saul's daughter 
and David's own wife, looked out of the window and 



My Paris Note-Book. 291 

despised him. Old as I am, I object to being despised 
by any one in petticoats, whether it be a mother or a 
daughter." It is, as far as I know, the only clever thing 
standing to the record of Mac-Mahon ; but it was more 
than clever, it was good-natured besides. 

M. Mollard must have sorely tried Mac-Mahon' s 
patience more than once, for, though the Marshal was 
utterly indifferent to personal homage, he was most 
punctilious with regard to the pomp and circumstance 
attaching to his office, and M. Mollard had not the most 
elementary knowledge of things. At the Marshal's 
advent to the Elysee, the free and easy running in and 
out of deputies and ministers ceased, the shabby car- 
riages and spavined horses of his predecessor disap- 
peared, to make room for well-appointed turnouts and 
thoroughbred cattle. The servants wore powder, and 
on grand occasions the out-riders and coachmen wore 
wigs. M. Grevy was not fond of display, first of all, 
because it was irksome to him ; secondly, because it 
cost money ; thirdly, because he thought that the ad- 
vanced section of the Republicans would resent it, for by 
that time the ' ' amnestied' ' Communards had returned 
in shoals. Nevertheless, he endeavoured to get a pre- 
sentable and experienced head coachman, and had over- 
tures made to that effect to the coachman of the Comte 
Bernard d'Harcourt. M. Mollard was entrusted with 
the mission. The coachman asked for a week to con- 
sider the matter, during which time he consulted the 
Count, who told him to please himself, while the coach- 
man's fellow-servants advised him to decline the offer. 
** I cannot take service with M. Gr^vy," said the man 
when M. Mollard came for the answer ; "for it would 
damage my prospects of getting another good situation. ' ' 
'*Trompette is with M. Gambetta," protested M. Mol- 



292 My Paris Note-Book. 

lard jauntily ; ' ' he could enter any family to-morrow if 
he chose." **Trompette is a cook," was the reply. 
' * Do you know your Bible, M. MoUard ?' ' came the 
question immediately afterwards. * ' Not particularly ; 
but why do you ask ?" ' * Because it says, ' Not that 
which goeth into the mouth defileth a man ;' and it 
might have added, Nor does it defile the man who pro- 
videth that which goeth into the mouth. I cannot take 
service with M. Grevy." 

But though very patient with M. Mollard, the Marshal 
was very nigh getting angry with him once. It was 
during that same Exhibition year of which I have 
already spoken. The reader is aware that for nine 
years after the proclaiming of the Third Republic its 
Parliament sat at Versailles, and that, though during 
part of that time all ministerial business was conducted 
from Paris, the official residence of the President of 
the Republic was also in the erstwhile royal borough. 
Of course, the Elys6e-Bourbon was always held in 
readiness, and when in the capital — which was sup- 
posed to be undergoing punishment for its behaviour 
during the Commune — the Chief Magistrate took up 
his quarters there. The Prefecture of Versailles was, 
however, the centre of the Presidential orbit, for the 
palace, inseparably connected with the memory of the 
Bourbon dynasty, was rarely used, and then only on 
grand occasions. In October 1878, Marshal Mac- 
Mahon gave a magnificent ftte there, the direction of 
which was, as usual, entrusted to M. Mollard. Every- 
thing went well, or comparatively well, until the guests, 
to the number of 15,000, began to think of going 
home. Chaos, pure and simple, set in there and then. 
During that October night numberless women with 
bare shoulders and bare arms were seen returning to 



My Paris Note-Book, 293 

the Versailles stations, where special trains were await- 
ing to convey them to Paris ; they were escorted by 
men without hats, their coats almost torn to rags in 
their endeavours to obtain their partners' wraps. It 
was a sorrowful sight indeed. I have by me a note 
enumerating the flotsam and jetsam, in the shape of 
wearing apparel, resulting from the cyclone. It is as 
follows : 1532 overcoats ; 544 opera cloaks, capes, 
shawls, &c., &c. ; 315 men's hats; a considerable 
number of umbrellas ; 17 chignons — we may take it 
that they were torn off in the struggle ; 9 wigs — a 
proof that we can ' ' keep our hair on' ' better than the 
other sex ; and one pair of boots. The whole of the 
facetious articles written during the next fortnight were 
for their greater part devoted to attempts at elucidating 
the mystery of that pair of boots. Not a single writer 
alluded to Thackeray's Mr. Minchin, a proof that a 
generation had arisen which knew not the minor works 
of the author of ' ' Vanity Fair. ' ' 

I remarked just now that this time the Marshal's 
patience with M. Mollard was well-nigh exhausted. In 
spite of the tension between the President and the 
Republicans, the history of M. Mollard' s ''greater 
glory" would have come to an end then, but for an 
incident happening which put the honest old soldier 
into a thorough good temper — on the Rochefoucauldian 
principle, perhaps, ''that other people's misfortunes 
make us cheerfully bear with our own. ' ' 

During that year the fUes and receptions succeeded 
one another very quickly, and a fortnight or so after 
that ill-fated October night, there was an important 
gathering at the Ministry of Finances. M. Mollard, 
whose confidence in himself was considerably shaken 
by the late event, felt that the slightest blunder on his 

25* 



294 My Paris Note-Book. 

part would be fatal to him. He was, above all, anxious 
about the organisation of the cloak-room, the rock on 
which he had split on the last occasion. He reviewed 
his staff on the morning of the entertainment and, not- 
withstanding the repeated assurances of the porters and 
ushers that they were fully competent and sufficiently 
numerous to deal with no matter what rush, insisted 
upon engaging a couple of supplementary hands. 

And here I must break off" for a moment to sketch 
M. Mollard " in his habit as he lived," as he probably 
lives still, for though he was replaced in his functions of 
Introdudeiir des Ambassadeurs by the Comte d'Or- 
messon shortly after M. Carnot's election to the Presi- 
dency, M. Mollard has — as far as I know — not resigned 
his other duties.* 

It is greatly to M. Mollard' s credit that the lofty 
position he had attained did not affect his republican 
simpHcity. Like M. Alphonse Humbert, the late Presi- 
dent of the Paris Municipal Council, who, when in- 
vested with high dignities under the Commune, carried 
his own beer to the Ministry in the Place Vendome * ' in 
order to have it good," M. Mollard has never forsaken 
the mannezingue where, in his less prosperous days, he 
used to ^^ tuer le ver*^ — read "take his early morning 
dram." A little while ago, I as good as said that, at 
the outset of his career, M. Mollard was a kind of 
French Eccles. There is no more pride about M. 
Mollard than there was about the father-in-law of the 
Hon. George d'Alroy. With his livid flabby face and 

^ M. le Comte d'Ormesson has recently accepted a diplomatic 
mission to Copenhagen, whither, owing to an accident, he has not 
gone as yet. He has been succeeded by M. de Bourqueney as 
Introducteur des Ambassadeurs. M. Mollard's son has, to a 
certain extent, replaced his father. 



My Paris Note-Book, 295 

iron-grey, somewhat unkempt, whiskers, clear blue 
eyes, and pendulous abdomen, M. MoUard is not much to 
look at, either in repose or in motion ; but the knowing, 
though not unkindly, smile puckering the self-satisfied 
mouth, bereft of several of its front teeth, redeems much 
of what otherwise would be positively disagreeable. He 
is hail fellow well met with all his old acquaintances, 
and with none more so than with the owner of the 
wine-shop near the Pont de I'Alma, close to which 
bridge he has taken up his quarters — over the stables 
which once formed part of the Imperial establishment. 
Morning after morning, year in year out, M. Mollard 
used to stand before that pewter counter, conversing 
affably with those around him, his toothless gums hold- 
ing a somewhat valuable meerschaum — a present prob- 
ably — his fur-lined coat, lined with rabbit skin, thrown 
carelessly back to show the inside. When the weather 
got too warm, the garment was carried over his arm, 
for, hke Professor Pettifer in Mr. Sim's ''London Day 
by Day," M. Mollard was exceedingly proud of his 
coat. Well, on the morning in question, when, after 
reviewing the staff at the Ministry of Finances, he made 
up his mind to engage a couple of supplementary hands, 
M. Mollard, instead of directing his steps from the Rue 
de Rivoli to the Quai d'Orsay, made his way back to 
the wine-shop at the Pont de I'Alma. He had hit upon 
an idea, and was going to carry It out there and then. 
There had come to his friend the pubhcan a couple of 
cousins from the country — big brawny rustics, deter- 
mined to try their luck in Paris, and the publican had 
enHsted M. Mollard' s sympathy in their behalf M. 
Mollard considered this an excellent opportunity of 
giving them their chance of a debut in the official world. 
Arrangements to that effect were made with the chaw- 



296 My Paris Note-Book. 

bacons in question, and in the evening they repaired to 
the Ministry of Finances, washed, combed, and dressed, 
and took up the stations in the cloak-room allotted to 
them by their patron. The latter in a few words initi- 
ated them in their duties, which, upon the face of it, 
were not difficult to perform. The cloak-rooms had 
been divided into sections of 300 numbers each, about 
3000 invitations having been issued. Unfortunately, 
M. Mollard had not considered it necessary to inform 
his protegh of the difference between an opera-hat and 
an ordinary silk one. Odd as it may seem, in the land 
that has the honour of having given birth to Gibus, the 
convenient crush hat is not worn as often in the even- 
ing as in England, Russia, and Austria, though one 
may see Frenchmen — not exactly the best dressed 
Frenchmen — wear them in the daytime. At that particu- 
lar period, moreover, the opera-hat had been tempora- 
rily discarded for its more sightly rival, the silk one. I 
fancy that a few years ago a similar change of fashion 
was observable with us. At any rate, the proportion 
of silk hats worn that evening by the guests of the 
Minister of Finance and Madame la Ministre was as five 
to one opera-hat. And every one of the silk hats in- 
trusted to the care of M. Mollard' s proteges was reli- 
giously " telescoped" by them, then deposited on the top 
of the coat, and finally returned to its owner in that 
state. Fate so willed it that the first four or five men 
who availed themselves of the peasants' services wore 
opera-hats, which they flattened in the orthodox fashion 
by putting them against their chests. After that, every 
hat, whether silk or other, handed to them was sub- 
jected to the same process of "foreshortening," prob- 
ably after its owner was gone, and when space became 
scant. The scene at the Ministry of Finances was, as 



My Paris Note-Book. 297 

Mac-Mahon called it, ''the comic after-piece to the 
tragedy at Versailles," but it saved M. MoUard from 
dismissal. ' ' My time is running short, ' ' said the Mar- 
shal ; ' ' besides, I could never do away with a man who 
afforded me ten minutes of such unalloyed amusement 
as Mollard has afforded me." The fact was, that the 
victor of Magenta roared outright when the scene was 
described to him, and the honest old soldier did not 
laugh often. And thus it came about that M. Mollard 
was enabled to flourish during the whole time of M. 
Grevy's tenancy of the Elys6e. 

Flourish is the exact word, for, in spite of all I have 
written, M. Mollard had, previous to M. Grevy's ad- 
vent, to put up with many reprimands both from Thiers 
and Mac-Mahon, and notably from Madame la Mar6-. 
chale. Thiers was very tenacious about the opinions of 
Europe in general, and France in particular, in all that 
concerned etiquette — especially where that etiquette 
made no demands on his purse. His boast that he be- 
longed to the aristocracy by taste, habit, and associa- 
tions was not altogether an empty one. He had been 
accustomed to the pomp and circumstance of Louis- 
Philippe's court, which, inferior as they may have been 
to those at the court of the Bourbons, were, compared 
to the republican entertainments, as High Mass at the 
pro-cathedral to a monster meeting of the Salvation 
Army. During the whole of the thirties he had more- 
over frequented excellent society, and the juxtaposition 
with ' ' people of quality' ' afforded him intense delight. 
When in 1871 the project of a monarchical restoration 
was debated, his first question was, " How will Madame 
Thiers and Mademoiselle Dosne be received at Court ?" 
Hence, though he could not do much, he endeavoured 
to preserve a semblance of "good form" and elegance, 



298 My Paris Note-Book. 

as M. MoUard often found to his cost. For he would 
not instruct M. MoUard : he took a fiendish deHght in 
pointing out his blunders ' ' after they had been com- 
mitted. ' ' From Mac-Mahon and his wife MoUard might 
have learnt much, had his self-sufficiency, and especially 
his eager desire to please the Republicans rather than 
the President of the Republic, not stood in his way, for 
during the Marshal's occupancy of the mansion in the 
Faubourg St. Honor6, ''good society" had not alto- 
gether deserted the salons ; and whether they liked it 
or not, the Republicans had to He low — more or less — 
conversationally, terpsichorically, and otherwise. 

With the advent of M. Gr6vy all this changed, and 
M. MoUard, as the organiser of the presidential balls, 
receptions, fetes, and dinners, had it all his own way. 
There was no one to call his decisions in matters of eti- 
quette into question. The President himself was not 
absolutely ignorant of the ways of polite society ; there 
was a fatherly dignity about him with men which in- 
spired a kind of respect, and an insinuating grace with 
women which could not faU to please when he chose 
to exert it ; but he did not always choose ; he was 
making his pile, and that, if the truth must be told, 
seemed all sufficient for him. During the five years of 
my last permanent stay in Paris as the correspondent 
of a London paper, I frequently went to the presidential 
soirees ; at three distinct times I found M. Gr6vy dozing 
in a capacious arm-chair in a small apartment adjoining 
the grand reception room. But even when he put his 
best foot forward, there was a striking dift'erence between 
M. Grevy and his two predecessors. One evening, in 
the presence of about two score of people, myself among 
the number, Princess Hohenlohe said, "I can assure 
you that M. Gr^vy makes an excellent President of the 



My Paris Note-Book. 299 

Republic. Among all but the best lawyers at Dresden or 
Stuttgart you would look in vain for his equal, let alone 
for his superior. ' ' It was a left-handed compliment, and 
I have no reason to suppose that it was intended as other 
than such. I am afraid it was not altogether the right 
thing to say, whatever the princess may have thought, 
considering her position in France. At the same time, 
I have an idea that, for the nonce, the princess allowed 
her liking for M. de Freycinet to run away with her dis- 
cretion. I have already alluded to the friendship exist- 
ing at one time between the family of the German Am- 
bassador and that of the sometime Minister for Foreign 
Affairs ; and it is an open secret that the latter aimed at 
succeeding M, Grevy in the Presidential chair. Never- 
theless, the truth underlying the ambassadress' remark 
is almost incontestable : M. Gr6vy took his honours and 
the duties involved in them * ' un peu trop a la bonne 
franquette." From personal observation I feel con- 
vinced that Jules Grevy might have been an almost 
matchless talon rouge, if he had not been so inordi- 
nately wedded to felt slippers, metally, morally, and 
sumptuarily. '*Do whatsoever you like, but do not 
let's have any fuss," was his stereotyped remark at the 
termination of every ministerial council. It was this 
constant craving for the schlafrock, the besetting sin of 
the middle-class, professional German, that provoked 
Princess Hohenlohe's criticism. The first and foremost 
result of this love of ease was M. Mollard's omnipotence 
at the Elys6e in all ceremonial matters, for, I repeat, 
there was no one to contest his decisions, and least of 
all Mme. Grevy, who, worthy woman as she may have 
been, was not fitted by previous training to set M. Mol- 
lard right. The home she had occupied from 1848 to 
1870, in the Rue de Richelieu, had been conducted on 



30O My Paris Note-Book. 

the narrowest bourgeois principles. Her enforced re- 
moval to a more luxurious apartment in the Rue Volney 
frightened her, and notwithstanding her husband's in- 
creased income, she was for ever trying to keep down 
expenses. M. Grevy was an admirable judge of good 
wine, and his partial restocking of the cellars of the 
presidency at the Palais-Bourbon and Versailles almost 
drove her out of her wits. She would fain have put 
aside the 81,000 francs per annum her husband received 
as President of the Chamber and Deputy (72,000 francs 
and 9000 francs), without spending a penny of these ; 
and the desire to hoard grew stronger as the emolu- 
ments increased from 81,000 to 1,200,000 francs. Be- 
tween the two they had raised a daughter, whose ideal 
of magnificent manhood was M. Capoul, the tenor, and 
who ended up by marrying M. Daniel Wilson, the brother 
of her father's ''bosom friend." Madame Daniel Wil- 
son was scarcely calculated to imbue M. Mollard with 
great respect for her authority on questions of ele- 
gance. 

Of M. Daniel Wilson himself I would say as little as 
possible. One early summer's morning, while living at 
Ferney, Voltaire took it into his head to see the sun rise. 
He climbed one of the hills hard by, followed by his 
man-servant. At the sight of the glorious spectacle, 
the philosopher lifted up his hands in ecstasy. His en- 
thusiasm got the better of his scepticism. ' ' Seigneur 
Dieu, tu es grand, beau et tout-puissant !' ' he exclaimed. 
" Mais quant au Seigneur ton fils . . ."he continued ; 
then looked round and noticed the valet listening atten- 
tively. " Quant au Seigneur ton fils . . . je pr6fere ne 
pas le discuter." 

Even so, I prefer not to discuss M. Grevy' s son-in- 
law. I said just now that M. Gr^vy might have become 



My Paris Note-Book. 301 

an almost matchless talon rouge, but for his inveterate 
love of felt slippers. In virtue of his association with 
the Due de Gramont-Caderousse — the same who killed 
the journalist Dillon in a duel, and provided for his 
widow — and other young bloods of the Empire, M. 
Daniel Wilson was supposed to be tres talon rouge. 
Those who had the opportunity of watching him very 
closely could not but come to the conclusion that the 
heel, however red it might be, was fastened to a very 
ordinary boot indeed, not to say to a * * godillot. " * 
Enough of M. Daniel Wilson, who was not the man 
to worry about the dignity attaching to the office of the 
chief magistrate of France ; hence M. Mollard did not 
meet with any opposition from him, as long as the bills 
for the entertainments were kept within small limits. 

M. Mollard was shrewd enough to perceive that, with 
such a family around him, he had to assert his authority 
now and then or else lose his footing altogether. Of 
course his most convenient victim was the President 
himself, and the blunders he made him commit defy 
description. Here is one, however : the rest may be 
imagined from that. On the occasion of the distribu- 
tion of new colours to the army in July 1880, there was 
a grand State performance at the Opera. There could 
be no doubt about the significance of that ceremony ; 
it had a military significance or none at all. The Presi- 
dent of the RepubHc, with his sound sense, felt this 
well enough, and in default of a uniform to don, he in- 
tended to display the only outward sign that linked him 
with the military institutions of the country, namely, the 

* A "godillot" is the nickname for the infantry soldier's boot. 
The Godillots were the army contractors who supphed the shoe 
leather (?) of the French army during the last war. Godillot him- 
self started life, I believe, as a banker's clerk. 

26 



302 My Paris Note-Book. 

Grand Cordon of the Legion of Honour. M. Mollard 
put his foot down, and the President of the RepubHc 
made his appearance without his insignia of Grand 
Master of the Order. 

I called M. Mollard a butler, and as a butler he had 
an eye to his perquisites. A crystal vase, nearly a yard 
high, and filled with attar of roses — a present from the 
Sultan of Zanzibar to the Introdudeur des Ambassa- 
deurs — found its way to a perfumer's in exchange for 
2500 francs. A mission from the Emperor of Morocco 
brought ten horses for M. Grevy : M. Mollard managed 
to work the oracle so well, although vicariously — for, as 
an English journalist who knows French excellently 
well, said of him, " He speaks no foreign language but 
his own" — that only nine of the animals found their 
way to M. Grevy' s stables, the tenth was sold at the 
French Tattersall's in the Faubourg St. Honor6. 

Is it necessary, after all this, to insist on the truth of 
the remark I made at the beginning of this chapter, that 
an invitation to the Elysee-Bourbon does not enhance a 
man's social standing ? I think not. Nor does it en- 
hance a man's opinion of himself to know that he is 
going to an entertainment where detectives are posted 
at the entrances to the card-rooms in order to warn the 
more innocent guests of the presence of cheats and 
blacklegs. This is a fact for which I can give my au- 
thority if necessary. And yet a visit to the Elys6e- 
Bourbon on one of those grand nights was not without 
its compensations. It brought a man in contact with a 
section of society, a good many components of which 
— I mean of the section — he had no opportunity of 
studying elsewhere, unless he himself happened to 
belong to that section. I am not speaking of myself 
in this instance : the force of circumstances has brought 



My Paris Note-Book. 303 

me in contact with all classes of French society, from 
the highest to the lowest. I take no credit to myself 
for this somewhat wide experience, and I trust there is 
no disgrace attached to it. At various periods of my 
life I have been obliged to write in order to live : the 
habit of writing has become so strong that I would not 
care, perhaps, to live without writing ; but throughout 
evil and good, my eyes have been the faithful allies of 
my pen, and I fear that I have led my allies into places 
where angels would have hesitated to tread. When I 
said just now that a visit to the Elysee-Bourbon on a 
grand night brought a man in contact with a section of 
society a good many members of which section he had 
no opportunity of studying elsewhere, unless he hap- 
pened to belong to that section, I was not thinking of 
myself I was thinking of men who have had neither 
the difficulties I have had to contend with, nor the sorry 
facilities I have enjoyed ; who have felt neither the in- 
clination to play voluntarily the part of a minor Haroun- 
Al-Raschid, nor the spur of want to goad them into 
doing so. I was thinking of men who, in virtue of 
their birth and position, are debarred from seeing les 
nouvelles couches in their habit as they live, and who 
therefore must have enjoyed the sight of them at the 
Elys6e, albeit that neither their attire nor their de- 
meanour was absolutely normal on such occasions. 
*'Me permettrez-vous de vous dire, milord, que vous 
ne connaissez pas Paris?" said M. de Fourtoul to a late 
English ambassador. ' ' Dans vos visites a mes com- 
patriotes, vous n'^tes jamais mont6 plus haut qu'au 
premier ou au second etage au-dessus de V entresol ; et 
le vrai Paris ne demeure ni au premier, ni au second." 
The majority of the guests at the Elys^e-Bourbon dur- 
ing M. Gr6vy's time decidedly did not live on the first 



304 My Paris Note-Book. 

or second floor, and that was what ought to have made 
them interesting to those who did not merely come to 
sneer. They were decidedly more interesting than the 
immediate entourage of M. le President ; the Floquets, 
the Ferrys, the Andrieux, the Koechlins, and the rest 
of the gros bonnets of the Third Republic, who are 
connected (by marriage mainly) with the great indus- 
trial families of Alsace-Lorraine, with la noblesse repub- 
licaine, as Mme. Floquet termed them recently. They 
are about as interesting as the majority of the pros- 
perous commercial and industrial elements elsewhere — 
with this difference, that they are, if possible, a little 
more pompous than the English or German aristocracy 
of commerce ; and, what is more surprising, especially 
in France, their womankind are too resplendent for 
words. One-Speech Hamiltons every man and woman, 
for I have never heard them talk of anything else but 
the "crime" of the 2nd December 1851, the subse- 
quent misdoings of the Empire, and the punishment of 
the * ' Highest ' ' thereon. They are all Protestants, un- 
less they are freethinkers, and the French Protestant is 
almost as calmly and impertinently confident of being 
able to assign the decrees of Providence to their true 
cause as the most ranting English Dissenter. Of the 
benefits the Empire conferred upon them by opening 
English markets to their products, this Republican 
nobility never breathes a syllable. 

What afforded one a little more amusement was the 
group which called itself the ** proscribed, " though, at 
that particular moment, the ** proscribed " had come 
back in shoals, and were coming back in greater num- 
bers still. But they would not allow Jules Valles the 
monopoly of coining chapter-headings for the future 
martyrology of France. He had called himself le de- 



My Paris Note-Book. 305 

pute des fusilles ; they would call themselves the ''pro- 
scribed." They did not say much : they strolled 
through the rooms in silence, stroking their long 
beards and scowling at every one, but especially at the 
Imperial monogram, which in those days had not been 
effaced from the walls of the Elysee. They did not ex- 
press it in so many words, but their looks betokened that 
they meant to see to this. Unlike that of M. Maxime 
Lisbonne later on, their dress-coats did not smell of 
benzine. 

The interesting part of the guests at the Elysee were 
the young men and girls who had come to enjoy them- 
selves ; the wives and daughters of the minor Govern- 
ment employes and their friends, to whom the balls at 
the Elysee were and still are an event in their lives. 
Neither the Comte d'Ormesson nor the Comte de Bour- 
queney would have done half as well with them as M. 
MoUard, who now and then checked their exuberance 
as he would have checked it at Lemardelay's, V6four's, 
or the Elys^e-Menilmontant — by teUing their young men 
to take their companions to the refreshment rooms, 
where, all things considered, and the many tempta- 
tions in the shape of dehcacies the very name of which 
they did not know, they behaved a good deal better 
than the guests that I have seen at balls of far greater 
pretensions. The young officers who stood smiling at 
them — somewhat superciliously — ought to have remem- 
bered that famous episode in the life of the late M. Henri 
de Pene, when all the threats of their (the officers' ) pre- 
decessors failed to make him retract what he had written 
about their gorging. My barber, in the Avenue Tru- 
daine, confided to me one day that he had an invitation 
to the Elysee. The morning after the entertainment he 
told me all about it. At supper he came upon an old 
u 26* 



3o6 My Paris Note-Book. 

crony of his, an erstwhile waiter of Chevet's, who looked 
after his creature comforts. " The only thing I object 
to," he said, ''is the way in which most of the male 
guests fill their pockets with cigars. I smoked one in 
the smoking-room, and took a second to smoke on my 
way home." 

I greatly approved of my tonsor's moderation, and, 
but for the fear of meddUng with what did not concern 
me, would have written to M. Mollard to invite him 
again and again, for I considered and still consider him 
an ornament to Republican society. When the reader 
has cast his eye over the following lines with which I 
must conclude these notes, he will agree with me on 
that point, however much he may disagree with me on 
others. 

At a reception given by Gambetta in 1880, at the 
Palais-Bourbon, 10,000 cigars disappeared in less than 
half-an-hour. 

At the inauguration of the H6tel-de-Ville, on the 13th 
July 1882, to which ceremony I have already referred 
in connection with the admirable speech of M. Grevy on 
that occasion, I happened to be in a small drawing-room 
whither M. Floquet, then Prefect of the Seine, had taken 
some of his more distinguished guests after dinner, in 
order to guard them somewhat from the surging crowd 
merely invited to the reception following the dinner. 
Lest I should be suspected of wishing to class myself 
among the distinguished guests, I hasten to add that I 
was taken thither by the late Lord Lyons, in order to 
be presented to the Burgomaster of Amsterdam. All at 
once a French 'Arry entered the room, his hat jauntily 
poised on his head, his thumbs in the armholes of his 
waistcoat, the remaining eight fingers drumming a tattoo 
on his manly chest. M. Floquet turned very pale ; but 



My Paris Note-Book/ 307 

the fellow meant no harm, he had merely come to have 
a closer look at the "swells." In another moment he 
strolled out again. A message was sent immediately to 
the usher, who stood at the top of the staircase, to re- 
mind the new-comers to take off their hats, a reminder 
not generally necessary in France. The contre-temps 
did not occur again. In a little while, perhaps half-an- 
hour in all after the removal of the cloth, the air had 
become very close, and the Burgomaster, seeing that 
smoking was going on everywhere, asked M. Floquet 
for a cigar. They were all gone. The late M. Alphand 
told me that the regie had sent 25,000. I think I was 
right in wishing to recommend my barber to the notice 
of M. Mollard as an ornament to his soirees. I feel 
confident that his modesty would have proved an 
example. 



THE END. 




'^^'^^'^^ 



A LIST OF BOOKS 



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" Cupid and the Sphinx." i2mo. Cloth. 373 pages. 

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in the technique and skill in plot ; and her latest volume is a still 

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one of the best of the year." — Boston Traveller. 

yt LEAFLESS SPRING. By Ossip Schubin, 

-^^ author of "O Thou, My Austria!" ** Erlach Court," 

" Countess Erika's Apprenticeship," etc. Translated from 

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with that society of which Motley wrote that ' You must be intimate 

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RIDDLE OF LUCK. By Mary E. Stone, 

author of " A Fair Plebeian," etc. i2mo. Cloth, jSJi.25. 

"A genuinely entertaining story. The hero is a disappointed 
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A Sister's Sin. A Daughter's Heart. 

Jack's Secret. 

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marvellously well the daily social life of the English people."— 

St. Louis Republic. 

Bound only in cloth, ^i.oo per volume. 
A Lost Wife. The Cost of a Lie. 

This Wicked World. A Devout Lover. 

A Life's Mistake. Worth Winning. 

Vera Neville. Pure Gold. 

In a Grass Country. 
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for her a wide circle of admirers. Her experience in novel writing, 
as well as her skill in inventing and delineating characters, enables 
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n^AKEN BY SIEGE. i2mo. Cloth, ^1.25. 

-^ "A graphic and very interesting anonymous story of a 

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J- Dabney, author of " Gold That Did Not Glitter." i2mo. 

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" Hardly a single chapter can be read without a laugh, and yet 

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pATIENCE. By Anna B. Warner. i2ino. 

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Daisy. A Sequel to Melbourne House. 
Dollars and Cents. Queechy. 

The Hills of the Shatemuc. My Brother's Keeper. 
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JiyfA^-D MARIAN AND R OB IN HO OD. By 
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The story has all the interest and life of the old time romances, 
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'J^HE THOUSAND AND ONE DAYS. A 

J- collection of Persian Tales in two volumes. Edited by 
Justin Huntley McCarthy, with Illustrations by Stan- 
ley L. Wood. i2mo. ^4.00. 
•' Nothing good is ever lost, and these stories are so excellent, so 
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y^HE DRAGON OF WANTLEY. His Rise, 
J- His Voracity, and His Downfall. A Romance. By 

Owen Wistar. Illustrated by Mr. John Stewardson. 

8vo. Cloth, gilt top. ;^2.oo. 
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Popham the Butler, — that all these and a score more are the most 
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" It calls up the days when the ladies flashed in brocades and 
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to deal with, and which will always be treasured by the lovers of the 
old and the picturesque. Some of the author's pages have about 
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yOHN GRAY. A Kentucky tale of the olden 
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n^HE MAN OF FEELING. By Henry Mac- 
-* KENZiE. Illustrated by William CuBiTT Cooke. i6mo. 
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The heroine is an admirable study, and, on the whole, one of the 
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Other Stories by « The Duchess." 

A Little Irish Girl. Lady Patty. 

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Doris. Rossmoyne. 

"O Tender Dolores." A Mental Struggle. 

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Courtenay Baylor. i2mo. Cloth, $1.25. 

" An entertaining collection of stories by a clever writer who does 
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" Miss Baylor is one of the best and brightest of American short 
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AR IN THE FOREST. By S. Weir Mitchell, 

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But Men Must Work. 
Sir Godfrey's Granddaughters. 
Mary St. John. 
Heriot's Choice. 
I2mo. Paper, 50 cents. Cloth, jgi.oo. 
The Search for Basil Lyndhurst. 
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Wee Wifie. Only the Governess. 

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By the same author : 

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J. B. LIPPINCOTT COMPANY'S FICTION. 

T EAVES FROM THE LIFE OF A GOOD- 

■«-— ' FOR-NoTHiNG. Translated by Mrs. A. L. Wister. From 

the German of Joseph F. von EichendorfF. Handsomely 

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Kanoldt. Printed on fine plate paper throughout. Small 

4to. Bound in cloth, gilt top. New Edition, ^2.50. 

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N 



OVELS OF E. MARLITT. 



It is through the delightful translations of Mrs. A. L. Wister 
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popular in America. They have now been profusely illustrated with 
characteristic full-page drawings from the original German editions, 
and include the following volumes : 
'Old Mam'selle's Secret. , Countess Gisela. 
At the Councillor's. In the Schillingscourt. 

The Second Wife. The Bailliff's Maid. 

The Lady with the Rubies. Gold Elsie. 
The Owl's Nest. >The Little Moorland Prin- 

cess. 
Price in sets, 10 volumes, jjl 10.00. 
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J. B. LIPPINCOTT COMPANY'S FICTION. 
pOUND WANTING, By Mrs. Alexander, 

■'- author of " For His Sake," *• The Wooing O't," etc. l2mo. 
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IDA REAR A BERING, A Sequel to ''The Quick 
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y^HE QUICK OR THE DEAD? By Am^lie 

-* Rives. i2mo. Cloth, ^i.oo. 

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Y^HE WITNESS OE THE SUN. By Amelie 

-* Rives. i2mo. Cloth, ^i.oo. 

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J. B. LIPPINCOTT COMPANrS FICTION. 



M 



RS. A. L. WISTER'S TRANSLATIONS 

FROM THE German. |i.oo per volume. 

Countess Erika's Apprenticeship. By Ossip Schubin 
•* O Thou, My Austria !" By Ossip Schubin 
Erlach Court. By Ossip Schubin 
The Alpine Fay. By E. Werner 
The Owl's Nest. By E. Marlitt 
Picked Up in the Streets. By H. Schobert 
Saint Michael. By E. Werner 
ViOLETTA. By Ursula Zoge von Manteufel 
The Eichhoffs. By Moritz von Reichenbach 
A New Race. By Gola Raimund 
Castle Hohenwald. By Adolph Streckfuss 
Margarethb. By E. Juncker 
Too Rich. By Adolph Streckfuss 
A Family Feud. By Ludwig Harder 
Thh Green Gate. By Ernst Wichert 
Only a Gikl. By Wilhelmine von Hillern 
Why Did He Not Die? By Ad. von Volckhauser 
The Lady with the Rubies. By E. Marlitt 
Vain Forebodings. By E Oswald 
A Penniless Girl. By W. Heimburg 
Quicksands. By Adolph Streckfuss 
Banned and Blessed. By E. Werner 
A Noble Name. By Clare von Gliimer 
From Hand to Hand. By Golo Raimund 
Severa. By E. Hartner 
HuLDA. By Fanny Lewald 
^„.^The Bailiff's Maid. By E. Marlitt 
In the Schillingscourt. By E. Marlitt 
Countess Gisela. By E. Marlitt 
At the Councillor's. By E. Marlitt 
The Second Wife. By E. Marlitt 
The Old Mam'selle's Secret. By E. Marlitt 
Gold Elsie. By E. Marlitt 
The Little Moorland Princess. By E. Marlitt 

l2mo. Attractively bound in cloth. Thirty-four volumes in 
twenty-three. Sold only in sets. ;^30.oo per set. 

" Mrs. A. L. Wister, through her many translations of novels from 
the German, has estabhshed a reputation of the highest order for 
literary judgment, and for a long time her name upon the title-page 
of such a translation has been a sufficient guarantee to the lovers of 
fiction of a pure and elevating character, that the novel would be a 
cherished home favorite. This faith in Mrs. Wister is fully justified 
by the fact that among her more than thirty translations that have 
been published by Lippincott's there has not been a single disappoint- 
ment. And to the exquisite judgment of selection is to be added the 
rare excellence of her translations, which has commanded the 
admiration of literary and linguistic scholars." — Boston Homeyournal. 



Philadelphia : J. B. Lippincott Company, 715-717 Market St. 



